


What happened to Thomas Barrow.

by Zer0 (ZerynOffenbach)



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Cheese, Falling In Love, M/M, Rude Aristocrats, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 57,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5323061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZerynOffenbach/pseuds/Zer0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after Lady Mary's wedding, hoping for a clean start, Thomas accepts a peculiar job offer in an even more peculiar household.</p><p>Her Ladyship is friendly, but volatile and elusive, the former butler has abandoned the ship, the rest of the staff keeps to themselves, and it all has to do with the absent and mysterious Lord Westforth, the Viscount of the estate.</p><p>Before Thomas can decide whether or not this new life is right for him, Lord Westworth barges into their lives with the apparent need to drive his new butler insane.<br/>Thomas wants to hate him, but settles for pity instead. </p><p>It's only pity, right?</p><p>God forbid he could feel anything else for this man and his annoying golden curls, his cold blue eyes, the sexy way he twirls his cigarette between his fingers...</p><p> </p><p>  <img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Viscountess Cometh.

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my mother tongue. I speak well but you'll read better things than this, obviously.  
> It was my first try at writing in English, I got better since (at least a bit!)  
> I still hope you'll enjoy it.  
>  
> 
> AFTER YOU'VE READ THIS STORY:
> 
> First, thank you so much for reading and for some of you, leaving kudos or messages.
> 
> Visit my profile if you want more. 
> 
> Love,  
> Zer0.

 

 

 

I finally set out to tell you what happened to Thomas Barrow. This is an accurate report of the events, and of the people involved. This happened not too long ago.

A year had passed since Lady Mary’s marriage to Henry Talbot. They were living at Downton, which isn’t a surprise, and they were regularly entertaining diverse guests, from country Dukes to simple childhood acquaintances.

This is how Thomas came to meet the Viscountess Westforth, as she stayed over at Downton Abbey, one cold week-end of November. Thomas first met her outside, as expected of an under-butler. She was accompanied by her father, a nobleman of stern figure, and was merely one among many guests staying over for a party organised by the Lady Grantham. He didn’t even pay attention to her looks, but lifted a surprised eyebrow as she graciously floated past him and said: “How do you do?” They were but simple words, but Thomas always appreciated people noticing his presence, and even more those fully acknowledging it. He intended to observe her more closely, but she disappeared among the other guests, and that was it for the rest of the afternoon.

She had brought no maid with her, which Thomas found disappointing, but also, again, surprising. And indeed, Carson informed him that she would need the help of Miss Baxter, as she recently “lost” her maid and was yet to havethe time yet to hire a new one.

Years ago, Thomas would have loved to inquire and scheme and shed light on those petty mysteries. But after all that happened in the last eighteen months, and his now precarious but encouraging friendship with the rest of household staff, including a truce with Mr Bates, he knew better now than to meddle and criticise and put his nose where it didn’t belong. “I’ll do my job, and I’ll do it well. That’s all there is to it," he said to himself. Therefore he put thoughts of the Lady Westforth aside, and got on with his work.

Dinner was lively and reminiscing of the old days, when Downton Abbey crawled with noble men and women from all around the country. At the end of it, men and women gathered together in the library. Thomas was pleased to see Lady Mary looking so at ease, chatting happily with Lady Westforth. He took advantage of their excited chatter to take a good look at the new visitor.

Probably the same age as Lady Mary, she had a haughty air about her, something he expected was rather calculated, and every move of hers was choreographed to look gracious and aery . She had splendid golden hair, _not unlike Jimmy_ thought Thomas, well arranged in sophisticated curls, and he noticed two mischievous sparkling green eyes, that peered intently into whatever she laid them onto, and rosy cheeks gave her a healthy glow. Thomas noticed she was wearing make-up, which he found bold and intriguing. She was stunning in a dark blue and green beaded dress, and matching olive gloves.

Thomas could only guess she was a friend of Talbot, because he had never seen her before. She was too sophisticated to be a friend of Branson’s, and seemed too capable of charming Lady Mary to be a friend of Edith’s. He didn’t linger too long, and focused his attention on the others guests.

Thomas took great pride in a job well-done. Now that he had set his past scheming and spying aside, he focused on doing his absolute best. It could have been that he wanted to make himself necessary in this grand house, or that he wanted to thank Lord Grantham in his own way, but there was something rewarding in doing one’s best, and Thomas sometimes felt he had nothing else to offer. So he would walk around the house at night, making sure everything was alright, that the kids were safe in the nursery, that no bedroom was on fire. He didn’t mind. He could never truly sleep if he didn’t go to bed absolutely exhausted anyway.

And that night, as he was walking about the corridors of the upstairs bedrooms, in the Ladies’s guest wing, he heard a big thump, followed by the opening of a door. He then made out an angry chatter coming from one of the rooms around the corner. It was a man’s voice. Amused at his own excitement, Thomas flattened himself against the wall, finding it impossible not to look around the corner and see what it was all about. Strange things always happen in those big houses. He even instigated some of those. So he silently leaned forward to take a look at the scene.

Lady Westforth’s father was outside the room, whispering angrily to her, while the Lady herself seemed to fight back in the most agitated manner. Thomas saw her pointing a defying finger at her father, who shockingly hurled her away from him with brutal hands. Thomas heard her stumble back and fall heavily on the bedroom floor. Her father then shut the door, and breathing unevenly, set to straighten his evening jacket. Thomas remained as silent as possible as the man passed him by to join the men’s wing, unaware of his presence.

Thomas hesitated. He knew it wasn’t wrong of him to be in the Ladies’s wing, but he nevertheless didn’t want to appear suspicious. On the other hand, he felt worried about the Lady, and wondered if she might be in need of help. He decided to go and knock at the door, remembering how Miss Baxter’s decision to check on him had actually saved his life.

He knocked as softly as possible. He didn’t want to awake anyone and to have to answer ridiculous questions about his presence or his intentions. He heard some movement in there. He could feel her presence behind the door. “I’m not opening,” she said, in a defying tone.

“Are you alright my Lady?” Thomas simply asked.

He heard her sniff behind the door, and waited. A couple of seconds later the door opened slightly, and he saw her little face cast him the strangest look. “What do you want?” She said in a low voice, staring at him with anxious, watery eyes.

“I heard what happened. I was around the corner," he replied with an encouraging smile. “And you’re bleeding," he added, pointing at her nose, red and swollen.

“Oh. Well.”

She sniffed one more time, to no use, and bit her lip, still staring at him, obviously weighing her options. Thomas noticed again her penetrating gaze, that reminded him of a bird of prey. He suddenly felt more vulnerable than her, though she was the one in need of help. Eventually she let out a sigh and pulled the door open, gesturing him casually to come in.

Thomas went straight to the vanity and grabbed a cloth that he dipped in water, observing her in the reflexion of the mirror while doing it. She sat on the bed, in her night clothes and robe, looking disheveled, but not in any particular state of shock. She didn’t seem to feel threatened by the presence of a man in her bedroom either.

 “What happened?” Thomas asked, in his kindest voice. He kneeled down by her and started cleaning the blood under her nose. She met his eyes with a shrug. “I had too much fun today. My father doesn’t like it when I have too much fun.”

Thomas swallowed in discomfort. He knew that feeling too well.

“Does… Do you not get along?” He asked, a bit worried as his own boldness. After all, she was a Lady. A bleeding young woman with messy hair, it’s true, but she was still a Lady, and not a friend.

“It’s complicated," she replied, reaching out for her cigarettes lying on the night stand.

Thomas took out his lighter to help her out. She thanked him with her eyes.

“Your nose looks clean, at least," he said, venturing a timid smile.

“I did piss him off, you know," she chuckled.

Thomas stood up, holding the blood-stained cloth, not knowing what to do.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

“Mr Barrow.”

She chuckled again. She had a sharp crystalline twinkle of a laugh. She looked at him with playful eyes, offered him a cigarette, and patted the bed cover to invite him to sit by her side.

“Thomas," he added, taking the seat and lightening up the cigarette.

“Well, Thomas, I’m Emma Herrington, the Lady Westforth.”

She made grand gestures with her hands, as to make fun of her status. Thomas dared not smile. Truth be told, she looked rather pathetic to him. She noticed his discomfort, and let her gaze drift to the wall across the room.

“You know what it is, sometimes, when you’re different. Most people don’t try to understand you. They live by their rules and their traditions and don’t want the bother of being challenged to learn something knew.”

Thomas nodded in agreement. _If only she knew…_ , he thought. His nails dug painfully into his palms. Looking across the room, she seemed miles away. She let out a long sigh.

“My father doesn’t like the way I live my life, and he doesn’t understand me. Therefore he’s unhappy. Tonight he thought me rude, inappropriate, and I wouldn’t surrender, so that happened. Tomorrow he’ll be gone, and we will forget about the matter. I don’t really blame him. I can be a tough cookie.”

She pivoted her head to look him in the eyes. He felt awkward, out of place. There was something unsettling about the way she was staring. Could she possibly be peering right through his soul? He felt a cold shiver run down his spine. She let her pretty smile die slowly on her lips.

“Thank you Thomas. You’ve been very kind to me tonight. I will not forget it.”

He shifted uncomfortably on the bed cover.

“It’s nothing, really.”

 

He stood up rather awkwardly, stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the night stand, and headed towards the door with a surprising speed. She seemed rather amused by that.

“No, really, Thomas,” she mused, “You MUST tell me if I can do anything for you.”

Thomas froze, not sure what to think or how to react. Was she being nice or was she making a move at him? How could he not read her as easily as he could read any woman? He pivoted on his heel, curious to understand what was really going on.

“I… Thank you my Lady, but I don’t need anything.” He cleared his throat and straightened his jacket.

She was still looking at him, with the amused and slightly condescending way of a teasing child.

“You’re not one to enjoy being favoured by the _upstairs people_.”

He furrowed his brow and gave her a quick, clumsy smile. She was funny. He couldn’t help liking her. He saw an image of Lady Sybil, floating eerily in his mind.

“I have had my share of experiences with favours," he stated flatly.

She put out her cigarette and floated toward him. The uneasiness of her stare sent another made him clench his jaw. She handed out her right hand with a kind smile. Thomas felt very hot. He had not idea if she wanted him to shake that hand or to kiss it in the most formal and uncomfortable way. She noticed his hesitation and he heard again the tinkle of her laughter.

“Good night Thomas, thank you again.”

He rushed out, and let out a relieved sigh. She probably just wanted to be nice.

 

That night, Thomas Barrow helped out the Lady who would transform his life.

 

 


	2. Her Lady's Man.

 

 

He didn’t know it, but she was that kind of stubborn and determined Lady, that nothing pleases more than to be right. She felt she owed Thomas, and that’s how Thomas understood it, when he came to think about it later. But I can tell you assuredly that there was, of course, a very selfish aspect to her pursuing Thomas like she did.

 

She set herself at work the following morning. Asking questions here and there about the “proud man Barrow”, raising people’s interest - and eyebrows. Her father was gone, and she was very excited to be rid of him. People asked about her nose, but when she said she had a bit too much to drink and had an unfortunate meeting with a door, Henry bursted into laughter, claiming that it wouldn’t be the first time.

 

Now let me tell you about the Lady Westforth. She was the wife of one of Henry’s friends, somebody he knew from since he was a student, and with whom he reunited during the war. Lady Mary asked questions over breakfast, so there she was, explaining that she had just installed her husband, who was named Adam Herrington, and was the hair to the Vicomté of Westforth, in one of her country houses in France, because he was suffering from a kind of exhaustion. She was on her way back to London, where she lived, when Henry invited her to the party. Her father, who had helped her settling her sickly husband, had travelled back with her, but was eager to go home. She would leave the next day. She claimed that she longed to visit people again, and that this party had been extremely beneficial for her.

 

Miss Baxter told Thomas that Lady Westforth had been asking about him, about his position here, and had asked if he would be willing to leave Downton. Thomas was baffled. It made very little sense to him. So as Lady Westforth asked around to try to get a portrait of him, he did just the same with her driver, who gave him a terribly vague list of facts and picked his curiosity. That was the funny thing about this man. He seemed to be under oath not to say anything ill about her Ladyship or her husband. This is the portrait Thomas could gather, after much insistence and his own reconstitution:

 

The Westforth had a kind of reputation, though no one could tell if there was really any truth it in. They got married before the war, at a young age, and they had no children. They were famous for throwing parties in their many residences, parties at which the former Lady Mary would have trembled to be invited. People talked of those parties, but never enough so anybody could draw an exact picture of what exactly was happening there. People called them libertines and avoided them, while others praised them for their brilliance and open-mindedness. Even the Dowager Countess had heard of them, and she blamed their frivolity on the part of Lady Westforth’s French blood, an heritage from her mother's side.

 

When Adam was sent to the front, Emma boldly set out to perfect her education. She was well read and knew a bit about several subjects. She started writing for newspapers and such. She was appreciated in much of London’s intellectual society, and though she was known to have a rough relationship with her severe father, they seemed to have come to a peaceful understanding.

 

However the war had changed Adam, and he came back suffering from different conditions. They still had no children, which worried and angered both Emma and her husband’s fathers. They wouldn’t throw any parties and would barely leave their suburban house any more. Everything seemed to have changed.

 

 

*

 

 

“You see,” Emma started, talking directly to Lord Grantham and Lady Mary in the library over tea, “I was shocked, shocked and outraged to find out that, while I was in France, my butler had taken the opportunity to leave us without any consideration. He just scampered, and I’m going back to a home without proper management.”

Lord Grantham nodded sympathetically.

“I need somebody who is trained as a butler and as a valet," she resumed. “He'd be paid handsomely.” She hesitated. “And I have had the pleasure of meeting Thomas -that is, Mister Barrow- yesterday, and I was most charmed. He is very skillful and I do think he is what I need.”

Lady Mary and her father exchanged an astonished glare before turning back to Emma, who seemed slightly agitated.

“I only dare talking to you because I know from some of the staff that he had been looking for employment over the last years. I was wondering if you would agree to let him go.”

She stared at them with the most expectant eyes.

“To me, of course. Let him go to me.” She gave out a laugh so sharp that Lady Mary clenched her glass in fear of watching it shatter.

Mary repressed a chuckle, and noticed that her father was struggling to do the same. He smiled kindly at Emma, but Mary took the lead.

“You see, I hope you’re not misinformed about Mister Barrow, that’s all. He was a fine valet and I do think he will be an excellent butler. I just don’t want you to… have him perform any other task. He would not be very willing to do that. We happen to know him well.”

She cleared her throat, amazed at the speech she just uttered. Lady Westforth let go of a relieved sigh.

“Oh, thank you, I’m so relieved. I really don’t see why he wouldn’t like to come with me. I will talk to him when I get the chance.”

Mary shook her head, but seemed to change her mind. “Well, if he wants to go with you, then we can let him go. Just don’t expect to him to do any... extra work. He knows only what he is... What he is trained for. And we are rather attached to him. We wouldn’t want him to find himself without any work or opportunity, should things change, or should you regret your decision.”

Emma waved her gracious hand dismissively.

“Very well, very well…”

An idea struck her mind, and she turned to Lord Grantham excitedly.

“How about telling him that he can come to Westforth Place for a trial of four weeks. It would be for him to judge if he likes working with us. And of course, for my husband and I to judge his qualities.”

Lord Grantham and Lady Mary exchanged another puzzled look at the mention of Barrow “working with them”, and the judging of “his qualities” but agreed to the terms. After all, they wanted to best for Thomas, but the position of under butler was almost ridiculous in those days and age.

 

They set out for Thomas to meet the Lady in the library. She was determined to talk to him downstairs, but Carson found it quite inappropriate. She had cast the old man a funny look before climbing up the servants stairs, and Thomas found it rather amusing.

He couldn’t believe that somebody wanted to hire him so badly. And he couldn’t dare being worried that she might be a younger version of the Lady Anstruther, who indirectly robbed Jimmy of his job after sleeping with him. Thomas felt a cold sweat pearl at his temples as he headed toward the library. He had slept with the British nobility once, and it did him no good at all. But at least it was with a bloke. He couldn’t make this Lady happy, even if she showered him with diamonds.

He took a deep breath and showed himself in.

 

Twenty minutes later, he had a new job. The money was too good to refuse, and the perspective of new adventures made him feel excited for the first time in years. He had to say goodbye, but this time his friends asked for an address to write to and blessed him with their warm best wishes.

The Lady had sat beside him, and said: “I saw something good in you Thomas. I still see it every time I look at you. There is discipline and pride, and kindness. My house is desperately in need of something new.  But mostly in need of someone kind. Aren’t you ready for a change?”

But he already had his answer when he heard the first sentence. This was definitely a change. He felt a new kind of hope fill his spirits. She said he had a month to get ready, and another month to judge if he wanted to stay with them. If she was an oddball, or if she tried to sleep with him, he could come back to Downton, and his friends would be happy to see him.

 

For the first time in years, Thomas thought he had a real chance. He wouldn’t let that one slip away.


	3. Full House.

 

 

 

A month later, shortly after Christmas, Thomas tearfully left his friends at Downton to start his new journey. He found it especially difficult to leave Miss Baxter, but he knew now that his letters would be well received by everyone. He hoped he wouldn’t have to return to them in four weeks, but it felt good to know he was welcome back if he wanted to.

 

He arrived at Westforth Place in the late afternoon. It was an old, big house, probably built around the same time than the Dowager’s House, judging by the architecture. It was nothing like Downton of course, but the place looked beautiful and comfortable. The cab driver helped him out with his modest suitcase and left him feeling nervous under the thin grey rain.

 

Thomas went straight to the servants’ entrance, and knocked at the door. A middle aged woman with dark hair and even darker envelopes under her eyes opened and let him in. Thomas was determined to make himself agreeable, as he promised himself and his friends.

“Hello. I’m Mr Barrow," he started with a genuine smile.

She eyed him up and down with her eyebrows raised and an odd smile on her face.

“Agathe Morin. I’m the cook. Among other things here.” She had a thick French accent.

 

She gestured him towards the servants' dinner room, smaller than the one at Downton, but much cosier. He put his bowler hat on the table and dragged a chair in front of the chimney fire.

“Who else works here?” He asked, a bit worried to be stuck with this one woman, helplessly hoping she wasn’t an O’Brien in disguise.

“You know, these days…” She sighed. “There is Tom, the driver.” Thomas rolled his eyes at the sound of the name. “Esther is the maid. She doesn’t live here.” Agathe fumbled with a tray, laying a saucer in front of Thomas. “Hem… Penelope used to live here. We came together, years ago.” She sighed again, louder this time. “She had to go a few weeks ago. It was difficult on us all.”

“I heard about that," said Thomas. “Her Ladyship came to Downton without a maid.”

Agathe shook her head, leaning forwards in a secretive manner.

“Her father. He got rid of her. He won’t let her Ladyship have a new Lady’s maid. Not unless she sets her house in order.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. _What kind of family is that?_ He found it more difficult than expected not to pry.

“What did she do? That maid.”

Agathe snorted rather ungracefully as she poured hot tea in Thomas’s cup. He winced and refrained from grimacing.

“Never mind that, you’ll figure out sooner than later how things go in this house. Or how they used to.”

Thomas shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. “Do you like working here, Miss Morin?”

She smiled as she sat opposite him.

“Yes. No one is kinder than her Ladyship. We have been together for years. She came and sought me for my cooking. She brought us from France, me, and Penelope. After the war.”

 

Thomas was relieved. However, one question remained. He let a couple of minutes pass in silence before asking it. He wanted to make sure it would have the expected effect.He laid back on his chair and lit up a cigarette, enjoying watching the room fill with smoke as he exhaled slowly.

“What happened to your butler?”

It was Agathe’s turn to stir uncomfortably on her seat. Thomas held her gaze as coolly as he could muster. He wanted to make sure she would give in as soon as possible. After all, he couldn’t have anyone question his authority among his new staff.

“He didn’t last long,” she said. “He came here about a year ago. You know, nowadays, people would rather work in a shop than spend their life in service.”

“Not with a training as a butler, I think not," Thomas scoffed, outraged.

He repressed a snort, realising how much Carson would have agreed with him.

“His Lordship is unwell, some don’t want to bother with the extra work.” Agathe said flatly.

Thomas help up his cup, frowning.

“What is wrong with his Lordship? What kind of extra work?”

Lady Westforth never mentioned anything of the sort. Thomas felt suddenly very uneasy again. _Did she lure him in to be a nurse? What was going on here?_ He relaxed a little when he remembered he could leave, if it was too much for him.

“The war made him sad.”

Thomas let a smirk quirk his lips. “Is that it?”

He could master a sad soldier. He had done it with Edward Courtenay. _God rest his lov- his soul._

Agathe looked up, casting him a bitter smile.

“He can be a handful, trust me.”

She stood up, and he did the same.

“Same, that wasn’t a good reason for Mr Brooks to leave the way he did. But he never liked the master. And if you don’t like his Lordship, there won’t be a reason for you to stay. He pretty much needs you for everything.”

Thomas smiled humourlessly. “That explains the pay.”

She nodded and grabbed a set of keys. “I will show you your quarters, then you will announce yourself to her Ladyship. She wants to see you.”

 

Thomas let Agathe give him the full tour. A cosy office for the butler, with his tailored made new uniforms ready for him, a small but tidy kitchen that Agathe seemed very proud of, boot room and storage rooms and everything needed for him to perform his duties. He met Tom again, and they shook hands. The young man seemed excessively bored, and hopeful to have company. Agathe then took Thomas upstairs so he could leave his suitcase. A narrow corridor was deserving several bedrooms and a bathroom.

“As you are well aware of, these rooms used to be full. Now you’re the only one. Tom lives on his own. And we haven’t had a footman in a while. His Lordship is too unwell to receive.”

The thought left Thomas slightly uneasy. He wasn’t used to be the only one living in the premises. 

“I sleep on the other side, women’s quarters.” Agathe added casually.

Thomas disregarded this information with haste. She opened a door to a bedroom of impressing size. Two windows were diffusing the moonlight through pale curtains. Thomas put his suitcase by a beautiful oak wardrobe. The room contained a bed with a very appealing and thick bed cover, as well as a minuscule circular table with two fluffy armchairs. Below one of the windows stood a delicately carved wooden desk and a sturdy chair.Below the other was a wash stand, with washing jug, basin and a large mirror. 

Thomas turned around to face Agathe, looking slightly perplex. “Are you certain it’s my room?” He asked.

It would never be as cosy as Lord Grantham’s bedroom, but it was a considerable improvement for him nonetheless, and he felt giddy at the prospect of telling his friends.

“Yes it is. Her Ladyship had a wall pulled down so the butler could have more space. It’s not like there will be more servants to come anyway.”

She raised her chin with a smirk. “My room is very lovely as well, it faces East, you see, and-”

Thomas had obviously stopped listening by then, and he took the time to look around a couple more times before allowing Agathe to take him to her ladyship.

 

 

She was in what Agathe called “the music room”. It was a typical beautiful and cosy room with a piano, a small desk, paintings of all sizes and a few delicate and ancients sofas. In a corner of the room, a gramophone was playing a soft tune. She was lying on an elegant méridienne, a book on her lap, absently blowing the smoke of her cigarette. Her usual disturbing stare was replaced by a soft melancholic gaze.

 

“Mr Barrow, your Ladyship,” Agathe announced, making the Viscountess jump in surprise. She laughed awkwardly as she picked up the book that had fallen on the floor, and headed toward Thomas with a kind smile. “It must be weird to be announced when you are in fact the one usually announcing others," she said, casting a bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

Thomas gave her a polite nod. “I could get used to it," he said, with an amused smile.

She laughed again, more heartily. “You’re funny. It’s great. You’re going to need that.”

She brushed past him in a flutter of silk. She smelled like fresh flowers. Thomas wondered how she mastered that, but not as much as what she meant by “You’re going to need that.” He grimaced but said nothing.

“Sit," she ordered, waving him towards the late eighteenth century sofa. He obeyed, feeling more puzzled by the minute.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she began, in her familiar agitated but gracious tone. “You see, Adam, that’s my husband…”

“His Lordship," Thomas interrupted, almost unconsciously.

She stared at him with an unconcealed amusement.

“Yes, his Lordship, Adam, Lord Westforth, whatever," she tweeted, ”The master of this house.”

She paused, and Thomas noticed a shadow passing over her face. It was gone in a blink.

“Lord Westforth," she resumed, “has had enough of France already, and he wants to come home.”

She was picking at the embroideries of the upholstery. She shook her head.

“I had wished for him to come back rested and happy, but he’s merely fed up with the French.”

She laughed at that. A quick, sharp, mocking laugh.

“Which is good for you, in a way!” She added, clearing her throat. “Because with his Lordship back in quite a mood, you will find out sooner than later if you want to stay with us.”

Thomas said nothing. He feared to meet his Lordship, who sounded like he worried and bullied everyone around him. He didn't feel like being pushed around and tormented by anyone. He wanted his life to finally take a turn for the best. When he raised his eyes to meet up her gaze, he was surprised to find her looking rather expectant.

“I won’t refuse you anything, for your comfort, or if you should need a day off or two. I’m just asking that you take the trouble to see his Lordship the way I see his Lordship. That is, a wonderful, wonderful man.”

Thomas must have looked positively stunned, because she fell compelled to add: “He’s just a bit sad, that’s all.”

 

“I know a bit about sadness.” Thomas thought to himself. “I had a wish to get away from it myself.”


	4. First Glance.

 

 

 

A few days later, everyone was in uproar as they prepared for his Lordship’s arrival. Esther, the mousy maid, had so much on her plate that Thomas took pity of her, and helped her prepare his Lordship’s bedroom. It was a beautiful room with great exposition and delicate ornate french furnitures. He had lingered for a moment, brushed his fingers against the fabrics of the bed and the curtains, attentive to any little personal object that could tell him about his Lordship, but he found that the room contained nothing of substance. It could have been a guest room, for all he knew. He found even more surprising the complete absence of any photographs in the bedroom, as opposed to her Ladyship’s clutter of pictures that Esther complained so often about.

 

Thomas was happy to run about and take full measure of his functions. He realised he was anxious to meet his Lordship. A few minutes before Tom’s motorcar was heard coming up the driveway, he burnt his fingers while sucking on the butt of his cigarette like a madman. What kind of man could Lord Westforth be? Sad people can be mean. He was a sort of an expert on the subject. And war heroes can be seriously damaged. Did her Ladyship find out about his past in the military medics, and was that the reason why she wanted to hire him? Did he have to expect him to be one of those unfortunate broken faces? Was it the reason why that Brooks had chosen to scamper like he did? Thomas certainly hoped it wouldn’t be that bad. But he expected at least one missing limb.

 

Despite his apprehensions, he still hoped everything would work out well. He was ready to make his best impression, even if that meant bowing and scraping for another haughty nobleman - with or without limbs -but he wouldn’t allow himself to be bullied. He was the butler now, and the butler of an apparently kind - though maybe odd - Viscountess, who saw something good in him. Thomas braced himself, and hoped his almighty Lordship was ready to meet him as well.

 

The Viscountess was in all kinds of states, between childish excitement to frightening controlling sprees. She was obviously as anxious as Thomas, and he caught her several times darting him furtive glances. He almost felt like going to her, to offer her a cigarette so she could calm down, before she drove the rest of the household, including him, crazy.

 

Tom’s car stopped in front the house just before four o’clock in the afternoon. Thomas got himself ready to welcome his Lordship, and headed toward the car to open the door for him, but her Ladyship was faster than him, and disregarding protocol, she sped forward and almost threw herself in the car, in an obvious attempt to get to the Viscount before him. Thomas stopped short and remained as composed as possible. He could make out the sound of her excited voice welcoming him in what Carson would have described an unladylike display, but he couldn’t hear or see his Lordship.

 

At last Lord Westforth came out, as a thin grey rain started to fall again. Thomas felt as if he’d just swallowed Mr Bate’s cane. His Lordship was a man in his thirties, tall, lean, with what appeared to be perfectly functioning limbs. But Thomas didn’t seem to find any relief in that. He stared at the tired face of the person he would have to care for for at least the next three weeks, and couldn’t repress a shiver of heartfelt fever; his Lordship was handsome. Very handsome. The kind of handsome that always got Thomas into trouble.

 

Thomas unconsciously took a step back, and that’s the exact moment her Ladyship chose to take notice of him. He swallowed painfully, pondering on whether or not he should just run and hide inside the house. She waved him to come forwards. Drawing a tight and what he assumed professional smile over his face, he headed toward her Ladyship, who was holding her husband’s arm and was leading him inside the house. Thomas looked around for the driver, who was unloading the suitcases and gave him en encouraging smile. 

“Good afternoon, my Lord," he said, in what he hoped wasn’t a shaky voice, “It is a real honour to meet you.”

Lady Westforth smiled, and gazed at his Lordship, expecting an answer. But the Viscount, undisturbed, only walked toward the house in a faster pace. He barely glanced at Thomas, looking confused, and mumbled something about going to his room. Thomas stopped, rather dumbfounded. Lady Westforth gave him a look before disappearing into the house.

“Get his luggage, and meet us in his bedroom in twenty minutes. I’ll get him used to the idea of you.” She smiled, as encouragingly as possible. Thomas let out a sigh.

 _He could do this_ _\- he could do this - he could do this - damn he was handsome -_ “Get hold of yourself, you fool.” Thomas snapped at himself.

He had twenty minutes to get used to the idea of him as well.

 

The Viscount simply refused to meet Thomas, and nothing else happened that night. Her Ladyship took him a tray, and Thomas felt embarrassed, if not humiliated. The Lady said it was normal. His Lordship was exhausted, and he had forgotten that Brooks had gone, so he needed more time to adjust to the change. Thomas would meet him as he would dress him for breakfast the next morning.He just had to be ready, because his Lordship came back in a pretty bad state of mind. The Viscountess casually warned him for blackouts and memory losses and other pleasantries that Thomas was never informed about before now.

He felt like he got the bad end of the bargain once again. His Lordship was a broken clock. He was trouble. Simply trouble.

 

The next morning, her Ladyship, already dressed by the helpful Esther, sent for him as she sat in her bedroom, smoking.

“He won’t go down if we don’t get him out of bed," she twittered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Thomas suppressed the urge to throw himself out of the window, just to state his opinion on the matter. He only allowed his eyelashes to flutter irritably.

“So we’re going to go in there and get him out of bed," she added, ignoring him.

“Even by force?” Thomas snapped, before recomposing himself, regretting his cheek.

She shrugged.

“Whatever helps.”

She went in first, but he agreed to get up easily.

“He’s in a good day, I think," the Viscountess told Thomas in a whisper.

As she went in to open the curtains, Thomas remained in the framing of the door, trying to take all measure of his new employer’s persona.

 

His Lordship looked sad indeed. He had dark circles around the eyes, but it didn’t alter his annoying, astounding beauty. His straight and light sandy hair was ruffled after his long sleep, and glittering softly in the late morning sun. As he sat mumbling confusedly to his wife, he looked like the most beautiful wounded bird Thomas had ever seen.

So much for getting hold of himself.

Lord Westforth raised his pale, delicate blue eyes, and met Thomas’ stare. He considered him a moment, staring blankly, much as a cat does. Her Ladyship put a hand on his shoulder. It made him shiver, but he didn’t drop his gaze.

“There you are," she murmured gently. “This is Thomas Barrow. He will take care of you now.”

Thomas felt his wounded hand give a tremor under the reassuring safety of his glove, but gave his Lordship his most humble and charming smile.

Lord Westforth didn’t even move, but kept on staring. Thomas had the irritating feeling that his Lordship didn’t even acknowledge his presence, but was merely staring through him.After a moment, he looked up to his wife.

“You will be as kind as I know you can be.” She told him, in a rather enigmatic manner.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. “You’ll thank me later,” she added.

Thomas moved sideways so she could leave the room, and closed the door behind her.

 

Thomas didn’t exactly know what to do. His Lordship was staring at his knees and didn’t seem willing to move or to talk to him. Thomas squatted in front of him, not sure if the poor man was sane enough to understand or even notice him.

“Do you want to get dressed, my Lord?” He asked after a moment.

He wanted to feel annoyed, to feel angry at this man who kept on ignoring him. But as Lord Westforth raised his icy blue eyes to meet his condescending stare, Thomas's heart skipped a couple of beats.

His Lordship finally seemed to realise that Thomas was here, and that he was here for him. He raised a hand to rub his high delicate cheekbone in a childish manner. It seemed as if he was studying Thomas’s face with a reborn interest.

“I’m tired," he said with a sigh. His hand fell to his lap. He had a low, soft voice, still raw from too much sleep.

“Your Lordship has been asleep for sixteen hours,” Thomas carefully replied. “You should get dressed, and I will have Agathe prepare you anything you want to eat.”

Lord Westforth shut his eyes, and took a deep, slow breath.

“I will wear the light blue suit, the one from America.”

Thomas looked left and right in a confused manner.

_Orders, at last. Back to business._

“Certainly my Lord.”

 

He jumped to his feet and went to the imposing wardrobe, trying to determine which light blue suit his Lordship was talking about. He had at least five of them. He swirled around to ask him, only to find him standing right behind him. Thomas let out a surprised gasp. Lord Westforth was staring at him, eyes squinted in some kind of mental concentration.

“Which… one is the american, my Lord?” Thomas asked, gulping for air.

His Lordship took an awkward step back and waved his hand, his head bobbing back and forth.

“Just… pick one or something.”

Thomas turned around and grabbed the first blue anything that was in front of him.

“You.” He heard his voice from behind him, and faced him with a polite smile.

“You will get me a drink, won’t you…” His Lordship said, shaking his head, as if trying to recollect Thomas’s name.

“…Old chap,” he added, obviously giving up. He pouted his mouth, pleased at his own ingenuity.

Thomas nodded curtly. _Old chap?_

“Of course Sir. After your breakfast, if you wish.”

His Lordship gaze was again miles away. Thomas walked towards him to take off his robe.

“I like breakfast,” Lord Westforth said dreamily.

Thomas repressed a grimace, and went on with his work.


	5. A troubled man.

 

 

 

His Lordship was indeed a troubled man, as Thomas got to find out in the following weeks. He was asleep most of the time. His doctor, who would visit once a week, would recommend a use of barbiturates, so he would be out for hours. Thomas wondered about the positive effects of being asleep several days a week, but the doctor seemed to think Lord Westforth was better off unconscious than prowling about with suicidal thoughts. Her Ladyship, though saddened by the treatment, agreed to it silently.

 

However his Lordship didn’t really need the use of any chemicals to fall asleep. He was always in a daze, preferred to stay in bed, or to sit on a chair with a blanket in the garden. There, his back to the house, he would eat too little, and gaze out on the winter skeletons of the trees while drinking tea. This seemed to make him comfortable, if not happy.

 

Thomas wondered what happened to him during the war, so that he would be so sad. He couldn’t bring himself to dare asking her Ladyship yet. He could only assume that his Lordship tried to take his own life, and that her Ladyship was afraid he might try again.

 

He couldn’t say his Lordship was kind, or cruel, or anything for the matter. He would mumble more than he would articulate words. He seemed to be out of it, barely noticing Thomas, never remembering his name, and sometimes looking absolutely puzzled at the sight of him. Thomas witnessed him several times hiding back under the blankets at the sound of his coming in. Her Ladyship was nevertheless happy with Thomas’s work, and talked of great team efforts and other nonsense while gesturing madly, causing him to smile and grow fonder of her.

Thomas made out that he suffered from a serious case of “shell shock”. The memory losses and the constant confusion, the need of barbiturates to avoid nightmares, and to say nothing of her Ladyship’s absolute refusal to take him anywhere loud or crowded, were all the signs needed for him to make a prognostic. He had seen it before. And he knew that the cure wasn’t around the corner.

 

The truth is, Thomas felt rather useless. He would dress his Lordship and undress him, which could have been the highlight of his day, if only he didn’t feel so guilty to be attracted to a ghost. He had noticed a scar very similar to his own, on the Viscount’s shoulder, a grim reminder of a bullet which passed trough. He would make sure not to apply pressure on it. Then he would bring his Lordship to his table in the garden and give orders to a quasi inexistent staff. Life was very quiet, if not achingly dull. He had a lot of free time. He picked up reading again, her Ladyship had given him access to her library.

He would sit on a chair, ten meters from his Lordship, enjoying to beauty of the garden, keeping an eye on his back, always checking if he wasn’t falling from his chair or try to stand up to do something stupid. His Lordship liked to stand up and just stumble aimlessly through the gardens, but Thomas wouldn’t let him. He found it too pitiful and couldn’t bear watching him looking so helpless, his head sagging. He couldn’t really make out why, but he sort of liked his Lordship. He couldn’t set aside the feeling of his insides wriggling within him at the sight of him. His beauty had mesmerised him, and he found out a bit sadly that his shallowness had again had the best of him.

 

Some days, his Lordship would be in one of his days when, caused by some delirious state of mind, he was in an excited mood, determined to dress up in tails, especially for breakfast. He would turn on the gramophone and joke and laugh and dance with her Ladyship, who humoured him as kindly and patiently as she could. In those days his Lordship would indeed notice Thomas, but seemed to think the butler was not on his team, and he would set out to squint at him suspiciously, or better still, to avoid him.

Those moments were short, and followed by memory losses, tears and violent crises, and then more sleeping. Either way, Thomas never had the feeling he had met a real person yet. They had had no conversations. Only imperceptible mumbles or tired requests slurred out of necessity. His Lordship himself didn’t seem to know who he was most of the time.

 

One morning, at breakfast, her Ladyship got a telegram, that she opened before Thomas. His Lordship was dressed in his famous American blue suit, which matched his eyes, and he sat there wrapped in his melancholic beauty, looking truthful, if not sane.

Away from her Ladyship’s gaze, Thomas was staring at him. There was little he could do to resist. His Lordship rarely noticed him anyway. He was picking absently at his food with a fork, his face contorted in a painful grimace. Thomas has grown used to it. His Lordship often suffered from twitches and tremors. They didn’t last long.

Lady Westforth squeaked happily as she read the telegram.

“Darling!” She cried. “Mister Talbot has heard that you were back from France, and he wants to see you.”

He looked up, and raised his cup of tea.

“I remember Talbot!” He imitated her tone. “He’s such a dear friend!”

He pouted his mouth in his most pleased-with-himself manner, something Thomas was as well getting used to.

Her Ladyship narrowed her eyes, staring at him with that piercing gaze.

“He wants to invite you to Downton for dinner. He wants you to meet his wife, the Lady Mary.”

He stared back, coldly, then waved his cup of tea, smirking.

“Oh yes, good idea. Everyone knows I’m the life of the party.”

His cheeks were flushed.

“We should invite them all here, to witness the Fall of the House of Usher," he smirked.

“That will do you good, to get out of the house," she said slowly, still squinting her eyes suspiciously.

He gulped down and snapped his tongue in an irritated manner.

“You’re sleeping too much. It makes you tired,” She insisted, leaning forward.

He was now chewing the inside of his mouth, still flushed, and he put down his cup with a shaky hand, as graciously as he muster.

“Fair enough," he said flatly. “I am not tired, I am hungover." "Mostly.”

She jumped to her feet and slammed her palms against the table, making the glassware tremble. Thomas stepped forward to catch her chair as it fell backwards, and remained as still as a statue behind it.

With scarlet cheeks, she pointed a triumphant finger at his Lordship, whose eyes were shut in casual expectation of a storm. He folded his napkin, put it on the table, and stood up as well.

“I knew it!” She cried, but she sounded more astonished than angry. “You hopeless drunk! You know you can’t get better if you don’t stop drinking! How many times do we have to tell you!”

He said nothing for a while, remained immobile. Then he opened his eyes. They were red and swollen.

“I don’t want to be awake.” He pointed a finger at her. “You know I don’t want to.”

Colour left her cheeks as quickly as it had reached them. She turned to Thomas.

“Have you been giving alcohol to his Lordship, Th…” - She paused - Mr Barrow?”

His Lordship’s eyes flashed with anger when he finally took notice of Thomas behind the chair.

“I haven’t, my Lady.”

His Lordship smirked.

“I really don’t understand why you did this. I obviously don’t need him.”

His tone was cold and mocking. He might have been intoxicated, but he had never appeared more lucid to Thomas before.

“And I’m going upstairs.”

He stumbled backwards, and left the room wrapped in all the remnants of his dignity, but he really was drunk, so the effect wasn’t quite as convincing as he expected.

 

When he had shut the door behind him, her Ladyship took a deep breath and sat down.

“I’ve never seen him that lucid before now," Thomas said, trying to break the ice.

She let out her sharp tinkle of laughter.

“Yes, that’s your luck. He came back from his last journey really wrong. All the barbiturates, and the sleeping -and the French!- and now the secret drinking… He’s usually as you saw him just now: not knowing what he’s saying, and in the next second biting your head off. Though I think it’s a defense mechanism. I mean, what else could it be? Surely you know about it." She spoke lightly, helping herself to more grapefruit.

Thomas rolled his eyes behind her back.

“What do we do now, my Lady?”

“Well, the good new is, he’s much better,” she said, looking at him and smiling encouragingly.

Thomas didn’t get enough time to repress an anxious grimace.

“He is!” She insisted, as if to convince him. “He’s out of the cloud today, which hasn’t happened in months. We will cut him off - no more secret drinking - we will take him to Downton for dinner, very soon, and you will decide at this moment if you will stay with us. I don’t want to hear about it now.”

Thomas nodded politely.

 

She finished breakfast and went to his Lordship’s room to check on him, Thomas following her closely. He stayed outside as she came in. She let the door ajar, and Thomas peered in discretely.

“Don’t do this, my love," he heard her plead. “You have to be strong. For me.”

He was crying again.

“I would be dead if it weren’t for you,” he sniffed, and Thomas shifted slightly to get a better view, and saw that he was lying on the bed, his head buried in her hands.

“I hate everyone that isn't you," he said, raising his eyes and managing the smallest smile.

“You have to stay strong, darling," she repeated. “We are going to get our new start. You just have to get out a little more. And stop drinking. You’re going to scare Thomas away. Now I understand why you were sleeping so much… And the mumbling…”

He sniffed again, almost angrily, as he straightened himself on the bed. “Who’s Thomas?” He asked.

He looked so positively confused that Thomas, ready to burst through the door, shouting “For heaven’s sake, you inconsiderate booby, _I am_ Thomas!”, decided to remain immobile instead.

“Thomas!” She cried, and she rolled her eyes. “Thomas, our butler! He’s been taking care of you for two weeks now! For heaven’s sake…”

He looked at her for a few seconds, and smiled at her. The sweetest and most heartbreaking smile. Hiding behind the door, Thomas felt a rush of bursting desire that made him annoyed at himself.

“You hired him for me…” He said softly.

“Of course, I wouldn’t want to undress you myself. The world hasn’t changed that much.”

He chuckled.

“Be nice to him, for me, please. I do like him.” She rose up.

“I don’t," he said flatly.

Thomas stiffened, and took a step back.

“He looks phony. And _what is up_ with his hair?”

She scoffed and ruffled his own blond mane.

“I’m glad you noticed his presence after all.”

When she opened the door to reassure Thomas about his Lordship’s health, she was surprised to find him gone.


	6. Visiting Downton.

 

 

 

Thomas’s spirits were unexpectedly low. He was saddened that his Lordship had only taken notice of his presence to dislike it so much, and even more that he had taken it so personally. 

The early morning of their departure for Downton Abbey, Thomas was staring at himself in the mirror, his tailcoat carefully adjusted and his hair meticulously slicked back. He looked professional. Dignified. And good.

So why would his Lordship say he looked phony? And what _indeed_ was the matter with his hair?

“Why do I bother," he muttered at his reflexion, his jaw clenched.  "He’s a lunatic. He’s nothing to me.”

Thomas took a deep breath and swallowed his rage. He would have to tell his Ladyship about staying or leaving by tomorrow. And he just couldn’t make his mind.

 

He went down, to dress his Lordship in another one of his seemingly countless blue suits. Thomas was quiet, determined to be professional. His Lordship didn’t even remember their plans to dine at Downton, and only grimaced when Thomas reminded him of it.

He had stopped drinking, but would spend his days in bed. The dinner tonight was not a good idea. Perhaps her Ladyship was too keen on having company. They were never invited anywhere. _And no wonder why._ Or perhaps, in her odd kindness, she wanted to be at Downton to hear Thomas’s decision, so he wouldn’t have to travel far.The thought of it made him sad. He was really quite fond of her. It was too late to do anything about it.

“I used to be beautiful," his Lordship said softly, bringing him back to Earth.

Thomas, surprised, took a step back.

His Lordship was staring absently at his own reflection, a dreamy smile on his face. He could barely stand, but he looked dashing anyway. Thomas took up his arm, to help him retain balance.

“You _are_ beautiful, my Lord," he murmured, looking at his Lordship’s reflexion.

Lord Westforth emitted the smallest of laughs, and put a hand on Thomas’s.

“I used to be beautiful," he repeated.“And vain.”

His smile fainted, and he stared at his reflexion with sinister eyes.

Thomas felt a rush of sympathy for this broken man, and he combed his hair softly, to which his Lordship reacted with a content smile.

 

They drove by car to the station to take the train to Downton. The journey was quiet. Lady Westforth knew very well that her husband’s state would make him a poor guest tonight unless he woke up. He had to rely on a cane not to lose his balance. Thomas was too thoughtful to make idle conversation. And his Lordship, huddled in a corner, was sleeping like a child, free from the adults' torments.

Half an hour before reaching the station, her Ladyship decided they would have to wake him up. To their surprise, he rose pretty easily. He sat up straight and asked for a cigarette. Thomas observed him fumble with it as he smoke it. He had a very lascivious way of smoking, that Thomas had amazingly never noticed before. _Probably because his Lordship is too high to do anything most of the time._ He refrained from chuckling at the thought.

Still staring at him in the most perplex manner, Thomas jumped when the Viscount took notice of him. He couldn’t help but lower his head when his Lordship grimaced at him, as if repelled. Her Ladyship took her husband’s hand.

“You look rather well, I must say," she said.

“Does that mean I look dreadful most of the time?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, in an attempt of teasing her. His voice was hoarse, but at least he wasn't slurring.

She shifted in her seat excitedly.

“Never mind that. I’m so happy to see you well.”

“I need a drink," he sighed.

She looked at Thomas, wondering, but he shook his head in an almost imperceptible movement.

His Lordship, looking at him from the corner of his eye, couldn’t have missed it. But he kept silent anyway.

 

Carson, Lord and Lady Grantham, Lady Mary and Mister Talbot were outside to welcome them when they arrived. The Granthams and the proud Carson had probably been worried about missing limbs as well, for they all looked very relieved when Lord Westforth stepped out of the car, devilishly handsome, using only a cane to maintain a casual balance. He looked at them rather sheepishly, and started fumbling with his hat.

Henry went to him and shook his hand so heartily that Thomas was worried that his Lordship's head would pop out like a cork. “So good to see you so well, my dear fellow!” He cried. He received no answer but the most incredulous frown.

Lord Grantham stepped forward. “And you have brought Thomas with you,” he said with a broad smile.

His Lordship shook his head. “Who?” He asked.

Thomas didn’t flinch, but remained as composed as a statue. Carson eyed him carefully.

Lord Grantham’s smile faded as he failed to understand.

“Thomas Barrow, your butler.”

Lord Westforth sighed loudly. “Oh, him. Yes.”

He spun on his heel and pointed him with his cane. “He’s here, right here, as always,” he said dismissively.

Henry Talbot cast a quick glance to Lady Westforth, who nodded in return.

They went inside, and Carson gestured to Thomas to go to the servants’s hall.

 

People showered Thomas with questions as he seated back on his old chair, Mrs Patmore and Daisy running excitedly to get some tea. Mr Bates was standing in a corner, with a reserved smile on his face. Anna sat by Thomas. Miss Baxter couldn’t repress a grin.

“How is work?”

“Do you miss it here?”

“How grand is the house?”

“Are you coming back?”

“How are they, really?”

“His Lordship is very handsome," said Anna with a giggle. Mr Bates snorted, but Miss Baxter nodded in agreement.“He is, definitely,” she said. “But how nice is he?”

 

Thomas looked up. He was happy to be so well received, and he realised how much he had missed some of these faces. But he didn’t think he could talk about the work. Talk about his Lordship.

He really hadn’t made his mind about staying or leaving.He hadn’t made his mind about anything. He knew he had put himself in another difficult position. He felt threatened by all this questioning.

“Why does it matter? It’s just work,” he said, in a rather cool voice.

Mr Bates shrugged and left the room. Anna gave Thomas a concerned look before following her husband. Miss Baxter took up her chair and dragged it closer to him.

“What is it, Thomas?” She asked. He could hear the concern in her voice. He remembered how much she cared for him all those years, even when he was treating her poorly. He felt a sudden urge to burst into tears. He couldn’t let her see that. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and stared at her.

“Are they treating you ill?” She insisted.

“No", he replied, in a coarse voice. He cleared his throat. “They’re fine. She… especially, she is very fine. Makes me think of Lady Sybil.”

“But how is he?”

Thomas felt the burning stinging of the blood rushing up his cheeks. _Broken_ , he thought. _Insane. Exhausting. Pathetic. Blue Suit. Eyes. Those eyes. Beautiful, really._

“He’s a arsehole, really,” he said with a cold smirk.

“You don’t mean that,” she replied, in her kindest tone.

His nostrils quiver. He dropped his cold gaze.

“No, I don’t, actually.”

They said nothing for a moment. Miss Patmore brought tea, but noticing Thomas’s drawn face and Miss Baxter concerned look, she retreated hastily, pushing back a cheerful Mrs Carson who was on her way to say hello.

After a while, Miss Baxter filled a saucer and pushed it softly toward Thomas. He nodded thankfully.

“You like him,” she said.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “Either way, it’s wrong.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile. He let out a sigh.

“It’s always wrong,” he added.

He took a sip of his tea, and confessed her everything.


	7. Cocktails at Downton.

 

 

 

Thomas served cocktails with Carson, Andy, and a temporary assigned footman, while the small party gathered together to practice the art of idle chatting. To everybody’s surprise, Lord and Lady Gillingham had joined them for the evening. Lady Westforth had warned Thomas to watch out for her husband, worried about the consequences a bigger party would inflict on her husband.

 

He handed a cocktail to his Lordship, who grabbed it hastily, as if afraid someone would snatch it from him. He barely had time to gulp half of it down before Mabel Gillingham set out to walk across the drawing room toward him. She looked as if she knew him. Thomas saw his wife stiffen at the sight of her. He remained close.

“It is so good to see you! It’s been years!” She kissed her Ladyship on the cheeks.

“It has been too long indeed, dear Mabel,” Lady Westforth replied politely.

Mabel turned to Lord Westforth.

“Where have you been, Adam? Everyone was asking about you. The Duke is absolutely mad with worry. He does miss you so much. And I agree. It’s been too long since we’ve partied together.”

She looked at him expectantly, but he only stared at her awkwardly. Thomas wondered if he could even remember ‘partying with her’.

“It’s been too long,” he repeated absently.

Mabel’s smile broadened.

“Adam?”

“I’ve been unwell,” he said carefully.

He quickly glanced at his wife and swung around, noticing Thomas behind him. He cast him an alarmed look. Thomas took a step forward, ready to help out, not knowing how at all.

“Yes, I’ve heard. I was ever so sorry.” Mabel said in a whisper. “The war… It was years ago, though. You should get out more often, enjoy life as we all used to. You are alive!”

She probably didn’t mean it in a cruel way, but judging by the look of her Ladyship, she had said something rather hurtful. His Lordship’s colours left him.

“Some things are more difficult to cure than others,” her Ladyship said flatly.

Mabel nodded slowly. Something had finally dawned on her.

“After all these years, Adam,” she whispered. “You must to let go of-”

“M-My butler,” he interrupted,  eyes as wide as tennis balls.

“Excuse me?”

“Thomas!” He called, waving him to step forward.

Mabel nodded politely at him, puzzled.

His Lordship leaned forward, his exquisite cologne reaching Thomas in a dizzying wave, who found himself almost gasping for air.

“My Lord? What can I do for you?”

Their eyes met. Thomas’s stare full of interrogations, his Lordship’s full of confusion. They remained like that for two interminable seconds, then his Lordship straightened up and cleared his throat.

“I'll get right on that, absolutely,” he said, “just give me a second.”

Thomas confusedly followed Lord Westforth as he left the room in a hurry, muttering to himself. He looked back. Lady Westforth feigned to admire the fine crystal glass containing her wine in very loud terms, but Mabel was still staring at them suspiciously.

 

 

His Lordship maintained the best appearances giving the circumstances, even at dinner, where Thomas was assisting Carson. Lady Grantham inquired. “What do you think of Thomas, Lord Westforth? Are you as pleased with him as we were?”

Thomas expected to the Viscount to ask his recurrent “Who?”, but Lord Westforth merely looked at her in amazement. He put his fork down and looked at his wife seated at his right.

“So this is where you found hi,” he said, with an odd smile.

He leaned toward Lady Grantham. “Would you like him back?” 

All eyes turned to Thomas, who remained perfectly still, if not for a imperceptible eyelid twitch.

Lady Westforth burst into a loud laughter. Lady Grantham decided that he must have been joking indeed.

“You’re very lucky to have him,” she conceded, and Thomas cast her a grateful smile.

Lord Westforth stopped smiling, and slowly turned to Thomas, observed by Henry Talbot, who nonchalantly resumed his conversation with him. Thomas noticed that his Lordship, already exhausted, didn’t talk back. 

 

He retired to bed early, but Thomas remained to help serving the drinks in the library. Lady Mary grabbed him as if he walked by. “Thomas, dear Thomas, how are you? Georges misses you terribly.”

“Thank you my Lady,” he replied with a smile. “I’m glad to have the chance to see Master Georges again.”

“You may come back if you want. I wouldn’t want you to be stuck in a house with his ghastly Lordship.”

Henry let out a shocked gasp.

“What?” She asked, feigning surprise. “I know he was your friend before, but surely he can’t be much of anything now. He can barely have a conversation. He's always drunk, isn't he. And there’s something really off putting about him.” She took a sip of her drink, while Thomas remained silent. “He is terribly handsome, though,” she added, like it settled the matter. She bore an air of pretended innocence, but her eyes lingered on Thomas long enough for him to start giving quick awkward glances in every direction.

“You enjoy appearing ruthless, I know,” Henry said. “But don’t be cruel to him. He’s a war hero. And you don’t know what he’s been through.”

“Pray, tell us! Unless Thomas knows already.”

Thomas shook his head with so much haste, he almost tore it off his shoulders. Henry shrugged and began.

“He was the nicest and the happiest of men. A little less virtuous than what you’re used to, that’s a fact. Hm. Maybe a lot. But what a great chap. Anyway, he gradually lost it during the war. I witnessed it. First, he found out that his only brother had died in the first weeks of the conflict. Then, well, not everyone could handle the atrocities in the trenches. He stayed too long, they should have sent him home sooner. They only shipped him back when he was shot, a year before the end of the war. By then, he was already terribly depressed. He was more… sensitive than others. But he’s far from being the only one that came back wrong, you know that.”

“Yes but that was years ago!” Cried Mary, as Thomas was picturing his Lordship’s scar in his mind. “Surely he has help! He has a wife, that lovely, poor woman. And he has friends, good friends, like you!”

Henry shook his head.

“I was one among many to party with him before the war. We had friends in common. Mabel Gillingham showed up from time to time. We get along, that’s true. But it was nothing like his friend Edgar.”

“Edgar, Sir?” Thomas frowned. 

“His childhood friend. I say, they knew each other since they were suckling babies. They were always together. Ask Emma, she knew him well.”

“So what about him?” Lady Mary asked.

“He didn’t survive the war. It destroyed Adam. He took up the bottle, but since he already wasn't quite right in the brain, that added to a nasty cocktail. And don’t judge. He looked almost alright today, compared to how it was a year ago. I wasn’t even able to visit. He wouldn’t know me.”

“He’s in that state because he lost his friend?” Lady Mary was puzzled. “Heavens…”

Henry sighed, while Thomas kept his eyes on his feet.

“It’s a bit worse than that, but I can’t tell you about it. This is not for a Lady’s ears.”

She chuckled and called him a tease, and he quickly changed the subject back to Georges.

 

Thomas took up the first occasion to leave them. His thoughts has turned into a loud banter of nonsense, and already he felt the first signs of a terrible headache creeping up the back of his skull. _Was Edgar a friend? Was Edgar a lover?_ Was his Lordship _like_ him?

He dared not think about it. It could have been friendship. Thomas knew he would be utterly heartbroken if anything happened to Jimmy, even after all this time. And he had seen his Lordship with her Ladyship. They did love each other. “I hate everyone else,” he recalled, bitterly.

From the confusion something purer emerged. Thomas had at last the satisfaction to know more about his master, and what had brought him to this point.

 

When everyone upstairs went to bed, Thomas and his former workmates gathered in the servants’s hall for a drink. Thomas managed to maintain a pleasant face, though he was still tortured by questions. Mr Bates had noticed Thomas’s uneasiness to speak about his Lordship. He thought he would tease him about it, for old time’s sake.

“What is it you’re not telling us about Lord Westforth, Mr Barrow?” He inquired with a smile. “Is he giving you a hard time? I’ve noticed he calls you by your Christian name. Didn’t you use to find it absolutely disrespectful?”

The sound of everyone loudly jumping to their feet was his answer. Thomas's blood froze in his veins.

Lord Westforth was staring at them, dressed his nightclothes and night robe, holding and waving a small flask, looking absolutely disheveled and confused.

Mr Bates’s smile died, replaced by an unconcealed expression of pity. It had its effect on Thomas. A hot rage prompted him to urge forward, to protect his Lordship from prying eyes and mocking judgments.

He seized his Lordship’s arm and swirled him around toward the servant’s staircase.

“Thomas. I’ve been everywhere,” said Lord Westforth, raising the flask to his mouth.

He shook his head. 

“I don’t belong here."

“No you don’t, my Lord,” replied Thomas. “But it’s alright, I’ll take you to bed now.”

His Lordship grabbed his hand, his mouth twisted in a sad pout. “I don’t belong anywhere.”

In the servants hall, all remained silent.


	8. A subtle change.

 

 

 

 _When Emma asked Thomas what would be his decision, Thomas replied he would stay on, and take care of_ his Lordship _._

 

 _Everyone seemed very content with this decision, except_ his Lordship _himself._ His Lordship _didn’t like Thomas and his slick black hair, his stiff and rigid way of standing up and doing things. He wanted to grab him and shake him. And now that he felt better, he wanted to be rid of him, so he could hire his own man. Or hire no man at all. And be free to do as he pleased. Sitting alone in the garden or listening to his pretty wife play the piano. Letting his mind wonder about in his memory gardens. Drifting to a better place, a place before the war, a place where his brother would inherit and Edgar would be around, a place without bloody Thomas._

 

_He wanted nothing else. He wanted no one else._

 

 _It would be difficult to convince his beloved Lady Westforth, so the best way would be to drive the man away. When he was not absorbed in some of his regular reveries, that’s all_ his Lordship _could think about._

 

_Getting rid of this slimy phony man. And quick._

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Thomas would catch his Lordship glance at him from the corner of his eyes, his pale blue delicate irises locked on him, like two shards of broken glass. He was worried. Worried his Lordship hated him. Would want to get rid of him.

 

Since their return from the Abbey, both her Ladyship and Thomas had noticed a subtle change. Lord Westforth didn’t seem so interested in sleeping anymore, though he would still require his treatment, and though he could still be drunk before lunch. Her Ladyship was very pleased, and claimed that “that was the plan all along”, but Thomas feared this small change more than anyone at Westforth Place.

 

His Lordship was better, and lucid, more often than not. He would just sit peacefully and read. Or sit peacefully and smoke. Or sit peacefully and listen to her Ladyship read or play the piano. He _really_ enjoyed sitting peacefully. The only moments where he didn’t seem at peace was when he took notice of Thomas. Then he would sigh, leave the room, or frown and click his tongue, as he often did when irritated. That was what would happen on _the good days._

 

Because of the subtle change, Thomas had realised something worrisome. His Lordship was better and lucid and that was all very well, but the problem was that, when he was lucid, his Lordship was, in fact, quite an arsehole. He would make snide comments to Thomas, usually when they were alone. He would criticise his work, mock his instruction at the Abbey, jeer at him and at his "stiff manners".

 

Thomas would find him smoking around a corner, fumbling with his cigarette, his other hand in his pocket. “What are you doing Thomas?” He would ask slyly, jaw clenched,his gaze sharp as a knife and as deadly too. “My job, Sir,” Thomas would shrug, accustomed to it. “Go on, then.” His Lordship would dismiss him with a wave, a dry smile. Thomas would shake his head and bear it with patience. After all, his Lordship was demented. He probably couldn’t help it. He had convinced himself that Thomas was an enemy. They was nothing to do but bear and wait. It wasn’t his fault. It was never his fault.

 

Thomas said he would refuse to be bullied. But his Lordship was extremely handsome and borderline irresistible with his pouts and his smirks, his humming and his sexy smoking. So Thomas felt an attraction he couldn’t control. Dressing and undressing his Lordship had become a nightmare. If Lord Westforth assumed with a cruel satisfaction that Thomas’s quiet discomfort when he was alone with him was due to his mean remarks, his prolonged stares and his chilling habit to stand a few centimetres away from him, he wasn’t necessarily wrong. Though in truth, Thomas left his Lordship’s room several times with a awkward growing erection.

 

Thomas was obsessed with Edgar, and had looked for pictures of him in the house, but there were none. He had dreams about him, dreams where he saw his Lordship and his friend locked in a fiery embrace. He had dreams about Edgar brushing his Lordship’s scar with the tip of his fingers, before leaning in a kiss.

 

He finally caught a glimpse of him in her Ladyship’s bedroom, among her cluster of photographs. He was wearing a lieutenant’s uniform, and he looked happy. He had dark hair, a broad nose, dark eyes and chiseled lips. He was quite handsome. Not as intoxicating as his Lordship, but handsome. Thomas tried to imagine those two handsome men being childhood friends and nothing else. It made him snort. “It can’t be,” he muttered out loud.

 

He wondered if her Ladyship suspected that her husband was … not a Lady’s man. The thought excited him despite his affection for her. He worked himself up, driven by hope, convincing himself that his Lordship was like him. He could think of nothing else. He nonetheless suspected things to turn dramatic soon. It was the story of his life. And it appeared just so. His Lordship couldn’t stand Thomas. It was painfully obvious. Any way he tried to look at it, his childish infatuation would only bring him trouble. Another unrequited love. Or worse. There was the threat of prison.

 

And then there were the days when Lord and Lady Westforth were so close together that Thomas could feel his chest tighten unmercifully with jealousy. They liked to dance, to hold each other very close. He would rest his golden head on her shoulder while she would rest hers on his chest. They would entwine their fingers together and whisper to each other beautiful and sad things that Thomas couldn’t hear. He would come up in the morning and find his Lordship’s bed un-slept in, so he had to come down and bitterly wait for him to ring him when he would be ready, and in those moments Thomas’s imagination ran wild and made him sick to his stomach.

 

Weeks passed in that fashion and both men were getting sour. His Lordship had been snide and mean and still Barrow was there, lurking in the shadows, dressing and undressing him with _his stupid manners and his even more stupid slimy hair._ His Lordship found he was getting tired of being mean. He wanted Barrow out. And to sit peacefully and remember the old days.

 

Thomas would take it upon himself to ignore his Lordship’s cruel comments, being determined not to be separated from him, making his day’s worth when their hands would brush together accidentally, when the Viscount would smile dreamily as he turned the pages of some random book, or when he was too tired to be a bully, and that he would sit on his chair while Thomas would brush his hair, absently humming a tune, and everything was quiet.

 

He eventually realised that his Lordship was not able to get rid of him himself, and that he benefited from her Ladyship’s apparent devotion to him. She pretended not to notice her husband’s insane obsession with him. She failed to hear the comments and she overlooked the stares. She claimed that if was Thomas, indeed, who made his Lordship better.

“He doesn’t seem to like me much, my Lady,” Thomas said once, treating her with his polite, obliging servant smile, as he was handing out her gloves.

“As a matter of fact,” she replied, as she slipped her fine hand into the glove, “hate is a strong motivator. So at least when he hates you he’s not being awfully sad.”

 

This is how things were at Westforth Place until Cousin Jane decided it was time for a visit.


	9. You can always rely on Cousin Jane...

 

 

 

Cousin Jane was his Lordship’s cousin. They used to party a lot together before the war. She was as pretty as she was silly. That means quite a lot. She telephoned to announce her visit.

 

It was a warm afternoon at the end of March, and the garden was awakening after a dull and cold winter. His Lordship was lucid and in one of his good days. Thomas was standing behind him, holding a tray and watching his back as he played golf. He was terrible at it. Probably because he was inebriated. Maybe because he was just terrible at it.

They looked around when they heard her Ladyship trotting up the freshly cut grass, holding a glass of gin. His Lordship shields his eyes from the sun with a gloved hand.

“I thank you for the drink, my love, but I have _Thomas_ ," he said with an air of contempt. Thomas was indeed carrying on his tray a set of cocktails, sweating in his tails, while his Lordship was slaughtering the art of golf in his american blue pants and buttoned waistcoat, sleeves rolled up, cigarette smoking in his mouth.

 

“It’s for me," she panted as she reached them. “Cousin Jane called. She wants to visit.”

His Lordship made a disgusted sound.

“Is it me or the whole of bloody England wants to visit me? The Duke keeps writing. I’m ignoring him beautifully.”

She shrugged thoughtfully. “Well, you know, you’ve been out of the game for years. People missed you. You used to be so much fun.” He grimaced at her, pointing his club. “Don’t,” he said, but he was almost smiling.

“She’s coming tomorrow, and she’s staying the night before going south for the season," her Ladyship said, holding a cigarette in her mouth and fumbling with her lighter with her spare hand.

“Tomorrow!” Cried his Lordship.

He leaped forward and snatched the glass of gin from her hand.Her Ladyship raised her hands in outrage as he gulped down its content in two expert gulps. Thomas handed her a cocktail. She thanked him with a smile.

“Good God, does she have to stay the night?” His Lordship was suddenly sweating. “I don’t remember enjoying people. Now they all seem to me like a bunch of twits. I want nothing to do with them.”

She chuckled.

“I’ll be damned. You’re in high spirits. And she’s family. So you’ll make an effort, thank you very much.”

She swirled around and headed back to the house, adding: “And keep ignoring the Duke, by all means!”

 

 

*

 

 

His Lordship was determined to avoid his cousin as much as possible, for a reason that Thomas couldn’t make out. It was possible that he preferred to be alone. _You know. Sitting peacefully and all._

 

But on the next day, he asked Thomas for one his best suits, and spent half an hour trying to look his best possible self. Thomas repressed a smile. _What her Ladyship wants, she must have._

Thomas got him ready with award-winning steady hands, forcing his thoughts to wonder anywhere else but on the slender body he was prepping for another woman . When he was finished, his Lordship spun around and stared at him, standing once more dangerously close.

“How do I look?” He said, his lips quirked in a smirk.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Ready, my Lord.” He held up his Lordship gaze, showing nothing.

The Viscount chewed his lip. “Beautiful and vain. Beautiful and vain. Beautiful _and_ vain.”

He said it in a whisper, caressing the memory of the words more than expressing them. He snorted before focusing on his reflexion again. Thomas took a step back to get some air.

“I had a friend once,” his Lordship began, his gaze fixed ahead as if he was staring at a past version of himself. “He said I was beautiful and vain.”

Thomas cast him a curious glance. _Edgar._

“I don’t think you’re vain, my Lord."

“Then you’re an idiot.”

His Lordship shrugged, grabbed his cane, and waited for his butler to open the door for him, his eyes fixed on Thomas’s hair, his face contorted in a grimace.

Thomas bit his tongue to refrain a curse to escape his lips. 

“Thomas, Thomas, Thomas…” His Lordship was still smirking. “Good old Thomas.”

He accidentally bumped into him as he left the room, sending fifty thousand volts of electricity through Thomas’s every nerve, but he remained as stoic as humanly possible.

As he floated down the stairs, his Lordship started humming. “Gold old Thomas… What is to be done with you?"

Thomas took a deep breath and went back inside the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. “It won’t last long,” he thought. “I’m going to lose it. Either way, I’m going to lose it.”

 

His Lordship waited in the music room as Thomas opened the front door for the Cousin Jane. Her Ladyship was with him. He felt feverish, angry, and worried. His desire melted with his resentment toward his Lordship, and he also felt on the brink of losing his position. “What is to be done with you?” Was what he was singing after all, right after calling him an idiot. _I am an idiot_ , Thomas thought. _A bloody freaking idiot._

 

Cousin Jane grinned at him in a way that made him feel exposed and quite a bit queasy. She was pretty, he guessed, but mannered and with absolutely no sense of fashion. He repressed a repulsed shudder. 

Her Ladyship welcomed and kissed her cousin, then turned to Thomas.

“Thomas, you look dreadful. Should you take the day off?”

He shook his head and managed a smile.

“I’m perfectly alright my lady, thank you.”

She observed him for a second.

“Very well, I’ll take it from here, just bring tea in the music room.”

Thomas nodded and took a few steps towards the staircase that led downstairs. He heard the shrilling voice of the cousin.

“Your butler is so handsome!”

He heard her Ladyship groan her agreement, and slowed his pace.

“I know!” She said. “Don’t worry, I know _all_ about it.”

Thomas's stomach dropped, suddenly heavy with the weight of imaginary rocks.

“That’s why you hired him then?”

“What do you think?”

“I envy you!” Squealed Jane.

“Don’t,” replied Lady Westforth. “I’ve tried everything. To no avail.”

Thomas felt his blood freeze when he heard Cousin Jane’s shrieking laughter, and finally allowed himself to utter a perplexed whimper.

 He spun around and bumped into Esther, who was carrying the tea. “What in the hell!” He cursed, loosing balance.

“Very nice, thank you!” She cried, offended. He rolled his eyes at her and grabbed the tray. “I’m sorry. That was good of you. Forgive me.” She shrugged, and left by the concealed door from where she came from.

 

Thomas hastened back to the music room, now feeling very nauseated. He burst in, making his Lordship jump and drop his cigarette, and the Cousin Jane burst into a foolish laughter. Thomas noticed his Lordship wrinkle his nose at her as if she were a parasite.

“Thank you, Mr Barrow,” he said, clearing his throat. Thomas stopped short, astonished, but all eyes were on him, so he composed himself and served the tea. His Lordship watched his every move with a cool lordly countenance, his two pale eyes contrasting with the purple of the dark circles his handsome face usually carried around.Thomas bowed curtly and withdrew, but as he reached the door, he heard the annoying voice of Cousin Jane again.

“What _is_ wrong with him?” She asked, chucking into her teacup.

“Where do I start,” his Lordship replied flatly.

Thomas closed to door behind him. He could still make out their voices through the wood.

“He’s so handsome,” began Jane. “I was just telling Emma.”

He heard his Lordship snort. _Or perhaps, yes perhaps he was chocking on his tea._

“Why would you notice that,” he growled.

“I don’t know. Women notice beautiful things. Don’t you? Oh you used to.”

“What the hell are you on about."

Thomas heard the cousin gasp in shock and her Ladyship chuckle. He slowly headed back downstairs, positively nonplussed.


	10. ...To teach you a lesson.

 

 

 

Cousin Jane was obsessed with Thomas, and made a show of it at dinner. Thomas remained cool and composed and absolutely professional, thinking of how proud Carson would be of him at this moment. As he surveyed Esther serving the dishes, Cousin Jane wouldn’t stop glancing at him. She even winked at him, and was determined to flash him her most sparkling smiles.

 

Thomas didn’t want to vomit all over his Lordship’s china, so he filled his mind with a picture of his Lordship instead. _H_ _is sculpted face, his subtle chin dimple, his sandy hair, his unflinching_ _sharp blue eyes, looking at him with dazed, loving eyes._

However, the real Lordship was staring at him and at his cousin with the same wrinkled nose and ferocious eyes. There was nowhere to escape. Thomas drifted his thoughts toward something lighter, and he couldn’t refrain to smile when he realised that Cousin Jane made him think of the Lady Anstruther, and how she had once caressed Jimmy in front of everyone, as he was serving diner at Downton.

 He then shook his head in disbelief. He had not driftted towards memories of Lady Anstruther. Cousin Jane was actually talking about her while chewing on her salad.

“Yes, _yes_ Adam, remember her. No, no perhaps you have never dined with her. I did. She is _so much_ fun. Are you sure we never partied with her? She is always in the mood to party. Pray, I think we met her with the Duke a couple of times.”

The Viscount was squinting at her, probably assessing whether or not to stab her with his fork. Lady Westforth snapped her fingers, making him jump.

“Yes! Yes!” She cried. "Of course we know her. Darling-” she turned to him- “She’s the one who had a thing with her footman.”

Thomas felt the blood leave his cheeks. His Lordship scoffed, raising a glass to his cousin.

“Well, a toast for this brave footman then.” He emptied the glass, almost chocked on the wine.

Thomas moved swiftly to refill it.

“Do you know what happened to them?” Her Ladyship asked.

“No I don’t!” Cousin Jane was ecstatic to have everybody's attention. “He’s not working for her anymore. There was this rumour that she came back from France to try to get him back, but he refused to go! He was only sixteen! The scandal. I heard she was left heartbroken. I hope it’s the truth. She makes me _cringe_.”

Lord Westforth chuckled and threw his head back. “What did she expect,” he said in a mocking tone. “A Lady and a footman. Preposterous, even after the war.” He sounded drunk already.

Cousin Jane nodded maliciously. “I agree. I never go for anything less than a butler, these days.”

Thomas gasped for air as Lady Westforth coughed to repress a laugh. His Lordship stared coolly at his cousin, then smirked and raised his glass again.

“Whatever floats your boat,” he said. “Yet how the mighty have fallen.”

 

 

*

 

 

Cousin Jane cornered Thomas as he was headed toward his Lordship’s room to prepare him for the night. He was carrying a glass of vodka on a fine silver tray, still dreaming of _a better Lord Westforth who would hold him, and love him,_ when a jewelled hand appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him roughly by the arm. He stumbled back, losing his balance. The glass fell to the carpet with a soft thump, spilling its contents on the fabric. Thomas rolled his eyes and bit back a curse. He looked around for the one responsible for this mess.

“Madam,” he said, drawing a long breath. “What can I do for you?”

“Oops!” Cousin Jane squeaked. She was buzzed. “Sorry about that!” She looked at him from head to toes, a hand on her chin, evaluating him like some kind of a race horse, blushing in the process. “His Lordship doesn’t need it anyway. He has a hidden stash somewhere in his bedroom.”

 _That explains so much_ , Thomas thought with amazement. He nodded at her with a new interest. “Do you know where he hides it?”

She sneered and grabbed his arm. _No better than a teenage girl_ , he realised, barely concealing his revulsion.

“I might, but what do I get in exchange?” She fluttered her eyelashes and bit her lip, probably thinking it was her killer move.

“What do you want?” He asked coolly.

She sighed and dropped her shoulders. “You know what I want…”

“Excellent." His voice sounded strangled. “What don’t we put a pin on it and-“

She threw her arms around him and set out to kiss him all over the face. Thomas froze. Was he allowed to hurl back a crazed woman who could have him fired? But surely he couldn’t let her have her way with him! He tentatively raised his arms to push her away, but she clanged onto him. She smelled like Port. _That’ll teach me to work for a family of drunks_ , he thought, pushing back with more intent. Down the corridor, he heard the sharp clearing of a throat. She let go of him, and they both took a step back, panting.

 His Lordship was sneering at them, leaning casually against the wall. He was already dressed in his nightclothes. He walked slowly toward them. Jane was flushed, a silly smile stuck on her face. She didn’t even try to repress a snort. Thomas wanted to smack her. He regained his composure and waited.

Lord Westforth walked up to them, stopping a few centimetres away from their faces. He slowly filled his lungs with air with his eyes closed, as if he was enjoying some imaginary tune.

“What is going on?” He finally asked, his eyebrows raised interrogatively. 

 _He feigns innocence. Or he’s in one of his delirious states._ Thomas hoped for the latter.

“Just a small nightcap,” she giggled.

He didn’t move but his eyes slid to her with an amused contempt.

“Good night then,” he said slyly.

“Good night, good night, my dear.” She was smiling, but Thomas could see she had lost some of her countenance. She disappeared swiftly into her room.

Thomas remained immobile, his eyes fixed on the empty glass still lying on the carpet. His Lordship followed his gaze for a moment, then focused back on him.

“Thomas," he said in soft voice.

Thomas looked up to meet his stare, feeling desperately vulnerable.

His Lordship drew closer.

“Thomas, Thomas…” He was slightly slurring.

_Still drunk. Not a surprise._

As his Lordship was now a nose away from him, Thomas's insides ached with yearning. He tried to swallow. To not avail.

Westforth seemed to be analysing every millimetre of skin on his face, for what felt like an eternity. Then Thomas felt his warm breath upon his lips as he finally drew back, one slow step at a time.

“Thomas,” he finally said, smiling. "You are covered in _rouge_.”

 He burst into laughter, while Thomas felt his intestines liquefy from embarrassment. He frowned, and lost his perfect composure. He saw a flash of triumph in his Lordship's eyes, and a heartbeat later, he winced as the Viscount’s fingers wrapped themselves with strength around this arm, pulling him forward.

“Thomas, Thomas!” He was still laughing. “How unimaginable! How entertaining!” He winked at him and bumped his fist against his shoulder. “You’re quite the Lady’s man!”

He was dragging a Thomas toward her Ladyship’s room. His cheeks were flushed. So were Thomas’s.

“You could do better than my cousin though,” his Lordship chuckled. “I mean, in theory.”

 They were now at her Ladyship’s doorstep. His Lordship knocked two times and entered without ceremony, dragging a discomfited Thomas behind him. He couldn’t stop laughing.

“What’s going on?” She asked, in a soft but worried tone.

“Thomas!” His Lordship couldn’t stop laughing, and he struggled to catch his breath. He looked as if he had just figured out the funniest joke.

She stiffened and glanced at him anxiously.

“Thomas…” He croaked, “Thomas is covered in rouge!”

Her Ladyship frowned, and swiftly got out of the covers to stand between them. Thomas looked at her resignedly.

“Jane…” His Lordship was chocking, holding his ribs. “Jane cornered him like you said she might!”

Still holding Thomas’s gaze, she shrugged. “Well, it figures. I don’t see Agathe throwing herself at Thomas in the middle of night.”

Without knowing exactly why, Thomas nodded timidly.

His Lordship had started coughing uncontrollably. When he stopped, he was half recomposed, or at least, not choking anymore. He picked up a cigarette from the nightstand, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Thomas’s a Lady’s man!” He boomed, lighting it up and coughing some more.

“Of course,” her Ladyship muttered absently. “Of course she would do that. The crazy bat.”

She looked at her husband and sighed resignedly , then turned to Thomas.

“Thomas, I’m so sorry that you were…” Her arms fell to her sides.“That you were assaulted by his Lordship’s cousin.”

His eyes widened in surprise. His Lordship’s smile died, and he chocked again on the smoke.

“I hope we can put this incident behind us.”

Thomas felt a wave of relief warm up his body.

“Of course, my Lady,” he breathed. “Thank you, my Lady.”

Thomas cast a glance at his Lordship, who was frowning at him, all traces of laughter evaporated. He turned to his wife. Her Ladyship had her back turned on Thomas, so he couldn’t see her expression, but he noticed that his Lordship suddenly lost all countenance and stared down at his feet sheepishly.

“You may go, Thomas.” She turned to him and smiled.

Thomas nodded and took his leave, shutting the door behind him. He waited a second.

“What was that about?” He heard her voice behind the door. It was harsh and cold. Thomas had never heard her use that tone before.

“What do you mean?” Her husband asked in a strained voice. 

She started shouting.

“You must be joking, if you think, you of all people, that I can’t see what you’re doing here!”

His Lordship didn't reply. 

“You humiliate him. You humiliate him and we have never, never treated anyone as badly as you have treated him. And that includes the British aristocracy.”

“That is not my fault if Jane threw herself at him,” he stated calmly.

“This has nothing to do with it!” She growled. “You have been vicious to him since the day you noticed him. And I won’t let you. I won’t let you ruin this. I like Thomas. I like him!”

“I don’t like Thomas!” He snapped. “You never consulted me about him. I found him in my home and in my bedroom, and I don’t like him.”

“What has he ever done to you? It’s all in your head! I already told you, he’s not German, he’s not sent by your father, he is not your enemy!”

“He’s… he’s just the way he is! He’s so rigid, he has no emotion! Nothing! He’s not human. He _is not_ human. Trust me. And yet I found him in my room, and you have charged him to follow me everywhere I go, when all I want to do is to be rid of him. And his hair-“

“Don’t you start again about his hair”, she snarled. “What ever is the problem with his hair!”

His Lordship was excited, Thomas heard him stomp his feet on the carpet.

“It’s just too… It’s just…there! I can’t stand it! It just…”

Thomas raised a hand to his hair, offended.

“He’s like _‘Look at me, I’m Mister Perfect, with my mannequin hair, and I’m made of wood,and what can I do for you Herr Lordship’,_ his Lordship sneered, in what was supposed to be an imitation of his butler. “As stiff as a stick, he just makes me want to grab him and shake him!”

He brutally quiet down. Thomas heard someone fall heavily on the bed.

“Somebody has to do something about him,” his Lordship added, catching his breath. “Seriously.”

He heard the Viscountess scoff.

“You’re so hopeless,” she sighed. “You have never wondered how I met him and why I chose him. It might interest you to know, if you have a second to spare not brooding about yourself, that Thomas helped me when I was in need and that he took care of me when no one else was around.“

There was a silence.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” His Lordship said after a while. “I would never want you to be unhappy.”

“I’m fine,” she sighed. “But you are not. And it makes me unhappy.”

His Lordship probably tried to embrace his wife, but she said:

“I’m tired Adam, I know you’re tired too.”

Behind the door, Thomas took a step back.

“Fix this,” he heard her say before disappearing in the darkness of the corridor. “Fix this or we won’t be friends.”


	11. It's Mr Barrow to you.

Thomas woke up early the next day with a dry mouth and swollen eyes.

“If God exists he’s a tyrant,” he said to himself. _No happiness for Thomas Barrow. No great love story for the ones that are different. Not even an ounce of respect._

He looked at his uniform. “I’m supposed to wear this,” he said to his reflexion in the mirror. “I trained hard to look professional. I don’t look stiff, I look like a butler, and a bloody good one.”

Thomas let out a sigh and grabbed his comb, before hesitating and putting it down.

“Is that what he wants from me? Running around in my own clothes, hair flapping helplessly, looking disheveled?”

He slipped into his clothes and set to comb his hair meticulously, mumbling to himself.

“Has he noticed that I’m… different? Is this why he hates me? That would answer all my questions.”

“He’s insane. He doesn’t know what is good for him or for his house. He will be nicer to me now that her Ladyship has put a stop to it. Unless he doesn’t remember.”

He sighed loudly.

“And so it is. Another day in paradise.”

He stared at his reflection one last time.

“Don’t you dare giving up. Don’t you dare letting them win.”

 

He knocked at his Lordship’s door and opened it, only to find him hiding under the covers. “So he doesn’t remember,” thought Thomas. “Or he will pretend he doesn’t. Either way, he won’t have changed his tune.”

He cleared his throat.

“Good morning my Lord, you have to get dressed. Your cousin leaves at ten o’clock.”

No answer.

“Your Lordship?” He rolled his eyes. “Do I have to drag you out of bed, as her Ladyship requested?”

He heard a faint growl coming from under the blankets.

“Just go. I can dress myself.”

Thomas scoffed, to his surprise. “Actually… No you can’t.”

His Lordship’s blond head appeared from under the bed covers,his face distorted into an ugly grimace.

“I’m not coming down. And I’m not getting dressed. I’m not feeling well.”

Thomas sighed.

“You are coming down. Her Ladyship said so.”

He smiled with perfect composure, then his Lordship’s words from last night came back in a flash. He cleared his throat.

“Please get up and let me do my job.”

Lord Westforth took a deep breath, his eyes screwed up in some kind of concentration.

“Can’t you just… dress my wife first, and then come back?”

Thomas’s eyes widened in horror.

“Dress her Ladyship? What are you talking about!”

His Lordship’s face reddened with irritation. He tried to sat up straight, but struggling with the sheets, started to shake with anger.

“Just do as I say for once, and leave me the fuck alone!”

Thomas froze.

“Very well, my Lord."

_You bloody mad man._

His Lordship sighed in relief. Thomas opened the door to let himself out.

“I will be back with a cup of tea in ten minutes. Then I will dress you. Then you will have breakfast with your cousin.”

The Viscount cast him a furtive glance.

“We’ll see about that.”

 

Thomas spent the ten next minutes making sure Esther and Agathe got everything under control. But to no surprise, they were perfectly capable. Esther went up to dress her Ladyship. Cousin Jane would dress herself.

When time was up, he went upstairs with a cup of lemon tea, his Lordship’s favourite, determined to make friends. He knocked and entered. His Lordship was rummaging through the wardrobe, looking annoyed.

“Your tea, my Lord,” sighed Thomas. “Now what on Earth are you doing?”

His Lordship swirled about to answer him. “I just… I wanted to dress myself.”

Thomas gave him an encouraging smile.“I am here now my Lord. I will do that for you. It’s my job. You will only make a mess, you don’t know where things are, and you still haven’t figured out the cuff links.”

His Lordship froze, then dropped his shoulders, capitulating. He maintained a cold gaze to save appearances.

Thomas gestured him to stand in front of him, and set to dress him carefully. His Lordship almost picked a black suit, but changed his mind for a blue one at the last minute. Thomas repressed a sneer. They remained silent for a while, then Thomas, unable to avoid feeling the uneasiness between them, decided to break the ice.

“And how are we doing today my Lord?”

His Lordship grimaced.

“I’m in a _shitty_ mood, haven’t you noticed?”

He started gesticulating. Thomas had to hold him still. His Lordship pushed away his hands.

“Is it Cousin Jane?” Thomas insisted, ignoring his employer’s impatience.

His Lordship glanced at him. “Oh yes, Cousin Jane, of course! Yes, it’s always Cousin Jane! I’ll be glad when she’s out of my ha-”

Thomas had been adjusting his Lordship’s waistcoat, but he apparently had done something wrong. His Lordship bounced back, his face red and swollen.

“Pay attention, you fool! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Thomas froze and stared ahead stupidly. His Lordship readjusted his waistcoat, mumbling things that he assumed were not very nice.

“Do you know what I regret, Thomas?” He rambled, his breathing uneven. “I regret the time where you could whip your servants. Or even get rid of them, for the matter. With just a snap of the fingers.”

His Lordship was shaking, but not as much as Thomas, whose anger coiled inside him like an angry snake. He clenched his fists.

“My Lord, I don’t understand what you’re doing, but please, just stop it.” His voice shook a little. “All I want to do, all I want to do is my job. I’m here to serve you. And despite everything, I care about doing my best, my Lord. You have to let me do that.”

Lord Westforth eyes darted between Thomas and the door. He was hesitating. He finally chose to take a few steps towards him. He was standing too close. _That foolish man._

“I’m going to tell you something Thomas.” There was a need for cruelty in his pale eyes. “I want nothing else, nothing else, than to see you go. You want to serve me? Is that what you want?”

He snorted. Thomas swallowed slowly, his fists so clenched he could feel his nails buried painfully into his palms.

“I’m going to tell you what I want,” his Lordship resumed, his face puffed, his eyes now flashing light bolts. “I want to get that smirk off your face, I want to break you, I want to drive you insane.”

He took a step back and allowed himself a triumphant smile. Then he locked his eyes on Thomas’s.

“How do you like me now?” he sneered, exulting.

His voice was shaking. With anger, with excitation, with pride, Thomas couldn’t say. He looked so smug and triumphant, a monument of all the things Thomas couldn’t have and couldn’t be. _A nobleman, a husband, a future, protection, kindness, comfort, beauty, intellect_ , all of those things that Thomas had ached for his whole life, moulded in one singular human being, who’s apparent sole purpose in life was to make his existence miserable.

“You are cruel,” Thomas whispered, holding his Lordship’s gaze.

The Viscount’s smirk died, but he didn’t flinch.

“You are cruel,” Thomas repeated. 

He unexpectedly leaped forward, grabbed his Lordship by his collar and hurled him against the frame of the bed. Lord Westforth’s back met the wood with a loud thump.

“I don’t know, what happened to you,” Thomas said in a low, pondered voice. “I know you have suffered, and I know you think you’re the only one. But I’ve just had enough of your rubbish. I have bore with your blue suits, your condescending tone, your drinking, your mockeries, your stares, your excruciating golf game. But let me tell you one thing, _my Lord_ :I will not tolerate or bear anyone, _anyone_ who claims he wants to destroy me. Not after all this bloody time. So mark my words: if you come up with any of that crap again, I swear to you, I will _smack_ you.”

Thomas stopped for a second, amazed at what he just did. Then a rush of satisfaction born from relief started filling him, granting him a feeling of upmost superiority that he had never truly experienced before.

_I won. This time. I won._

He realised he was still holding his Lordship by his collar, so he very simply let him go and set to straighten the wrinkled fabric. He glanced up at his Lordship, the smuggest smirk drawn on his face.

“How do you like _me_ now?”

 His Lordship had been staring at him with astonished eyes, his face fixed in an expression of incredulity, ever since the moment he felt the hardwood frame of the bed press painfully into his spine. He was trying to keep his lordly countenance, but he was breathing raggedly.

“I…” He uttered after a few seconds. He fell silent.

Thomas had never felt so great, and smiling his most servile smile, he picked up his Lordship’s necktie and held it before him.

“I’m going to finish to dress you now.”

His Lordship didn’t answer, his eyes still wide and fixed on him. Thomas carefully adjusted the necktie, a silly smile still printed on his face. He then helped the Viscount into his blue jacket, facing him to fasten the buttons. He looked down and his smile vanished.

His Lordship was hard.

Thomas glanced up at him in astonishment. Lord Westforth feigned to be absorbed in the study of the ceiling, his breathing still uneven.

Thomas looked again to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. But it was clear that his Lordship was aroused.Thomas turned to the vanity and picked up a brush, torn between disbelief and amazement. He suppressed a scoff. He swirled back, setting to brush his Lordship’s jacket.

The Viscount was still absorbed in the study of the ceiling, his expression a combination of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Can I do anything else for you, My Lord?” Thomas inquired, trying to meet his gaze.

“Just go away,” he replied with a thick voice, avoiding his eyes. He loudly cleared his throat.

Thomas left the room and leaned against the door for a second, still stunned at what just happened.

In the bedroom, he heard his Lordship sink down onto a chair with a frustrated groan.


	12. Armistice.

Breakfast was one that Thomas would remember, as his Lordship was carefully avoiding looking at him, trying to focus on his cousin instead.

Her Ladyship was quiet, her eyes sliding back and forth between the two men.

Cousin Jane was making plans for them to visit her in the summer, and organise a party, for old time sakes. She was describing how his Lordship should train his butler to make this new trend of cocktails.

“You have to keep up with the latest fashions, my dear cousin. It’s very important to maintain the standards in these difficult-“

“Oh shut up!” He snapped.

Everyone froze. Lord Westforth straightened, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He sighed loudly.

“I just… I need a…”

He cursed instead. Cousin Jane squealed in shock.

“Why do I even bother, he said, shaking his head. He stood up.

“I am going to go for a … something. I’m going.”

He headed towards the door, hesitating as Thomas rushed to open it. He turned back, his face blank.

“Have a safe journey home, Cousin Jane. Or wherever you’re going.”

He waved his hand and left.

 

Jane, eager to leave to tell of the incident to all her friends in the South, left after breakfast. Tom drove her to the station.

Thomas kept an eye on his Lordship, who was smoking and pacing outside the front door. He was starting to get worried, about all that had happened this morning and how it would influence his position. He pondered a moment, then joined him outside.

“Anything I can do for you, Sir?” He asked.

The arrival of Tom’s car prevented him from getting an answer. He was coming back from the station. He parked the car, lifting his hat at his Lordship, who glanced at him furtively, then at Thomas.

“You, driver, I will take the car.” He said. “I’m going to the park.”

Thomas shook his head.

“No you’re not. You mustn’t. Tom will drive you. Or I will.”

Thomas gestured the young man to hand over the keys to him. But his Lordship reached forward and grabbed them instead. He dismissed Tom with a curt nod. The young man shook his head at them, looking at them as if they were madmen. He left them to it.

His Lordship remained still for a while, only staring at the sky, his cigarette still stuck between his fingers.

“You know, I have inquired about you,” he said in a low voice.

Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Oh is that right?”

“Yes,” he said, stepping closer to the car. “They told me you were sneaky, and that you lied and even stole occasionally.”

“That’s nice to hear I have friends,” Thomas replied flatly.

“You don’t, actually. You don’t. Well, none that money can't buy. And what am I supposed to do, when my caretaker is a sneaky lying thief?”

He nodded thoughtfully and dropped his cigarette on the ground, stomped it with his foot.

“Her Ladyship trusts me, and she’s right to do so,” Thomas said in a soft voice. “But if you really don’t, after all your investigating and your plotting, then I really don’t understand what I’m doing here.” He scoffed. “I never really understood what I was doing here anyway.”

His Lordship took a few steps toward him, but remained at a safe distance.

“You’re not as clever as you think you are,” he said, his eyebrows lifted haughtily.

Thomas felt too good about himself to capitulate now. 

“And you’re insane. So you can’t drive. I’ll drive you this time.”

Lord Westforth considered Thomas a moment, then shrugged.

“Today’s about the truth,” he said. “Fair enough.”

He lazily threw the set of keys in Thomas’s direction, then walked around the car to claim the passenger’s seat.

“Hyde Park,” he requested. “I haven’t been there in ages."

Thomas took a deep breath, a bit worried. He had orders not to take his Lordship in crowded and loud places. But Hyde Park couldn’t be that bad, could it? And it was hard to resist an occasion to spend time with his Lordship, especially when he had managed to tame him a little. And after what transpired back in the bedroom, which made Thomas dizzy just at the thought of it.

“He doesn’t like me," he said to himself. “But he likes me.” “Perhaps he doesn’t like me yet, but he likes to be bossed around. If that’s the case, I have to get the hang of it. Then, he might like me.”

“Are we going today or tomorrow, for heaven’s sake!” His Lordship's impatience dragged Thomas back to Earth.

“I’m getting our coats, Sir!”

What did Agathe say, on the day of his arrival? _"He can be a handful."_ Thomas laughed. She had no idea.

 

His Lordship winced occasionally at the sound of honking cars or loud noises coming from the city, but he tried to conceal his discomfort, as expected of a gentleman. He seemed relieved when they reached the park, and even contented, as they strolled in the gardens. He was humming and twirling his walking stick. Thomas remained carefully behind him. After a while, Lord Westforth started throwing him some furtive glances. He was seemingly struggling with an idea.

Thomas stepped forward. “Anything wrong, my Lord?”

His Lordship cleared his throat with a nervous laughter.

“I… erm… I play golf because I like being outside,” he said, concentrating on avoiding Thomas’s gaze. “I have never really practiced it. I’m sure otherwise I wouldn’t have been called “terrible” at it.”

“I didn’t use the word ‘terrible’,” corrected Thomas. “I used ‘excruciating’.”

“Alright, alright.” The Viscount frowned, offended. He turned his back to Thomas, who rolled his eyes but bit his lip, feeling hungry with this new possibility for rapprochement.

“Can I ask you a question, my Lord?”

“Why not,” the man replied, fumbling with his stick. “It’s national Truth day.”

“Why do you always dress in the same shade of blue? What is the matter with that?”

His Lordship remained silent, stomping his cane on the grass, looking thoughtful.

“I had a friend,” he said after a while. “Who said I looked good in blue. And I had to agree. It’s a bit stupid now I know. But you cling to memories, sometimes. Good ones, bad ones. Or perhaps they cling on to you.”

Thomas took up this chance.

“What happened to this friend?” He ventured, studying his Lordship carefully.

Lord Westforth gazed at the trees, winced at the thought of something painful.

“He died. The war…” He hesitated. “I think we all did a little.”

Thomas felt again this powerful rush of sympathy for his employer.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

His Lordship scoffed.

“No. Never. Absolutely never. And not with you. Thank you very much.”

They remained silent for a few minutes, enjoying their walk, until Thomas heard his Lordship shout in surprise.

“Good God. That’s the Duke!”

Thomas looked up and felt his stomach make its way up to his throat.

That was Philip, the Duke of Crowborough. Walking casually through the park, only a few feet from them.

He felt a rush of panic.

“The Duke? _That’s_ the Duke?”

His Lordship remained immobile, afraid to make a move.

“The very same. Why, do you know him?”

Thomas couldn’t repress a nervous laughter.

“Enough to not want to be seen by him.”

His Lordship flashed him the most incredulous stare.

“I’ll be damned! But I feel the same, Thomas. We better head back to the car.”

They swiftly swirled around, only to hear the Duke’s voice calling behind them.

“Adam, Adam, wait!”

Lord Westforth stopped short with a curse, his face contorted in a frustrated grimace. Thomas tried to bury his head under his bowler hat.

“Adam!" The Duke panted as he reached them. He almost threw himself at his Lordship, grabbing his hand and shaking it vigorously.

“Oh, good morning, I didn’t see you there,” Lord Westforth lied.

“I knew it was you! Always wearing the same suits. My dear friend!”

His Lordship sheepishly glanced at Thomas, who shrugged mercilessly at him.

“I have been writing and you have never replied.”

The Duke looked as charming and well-mannered as he did fifteen years ago. Though Thomas knew better.

“But you look so incredible!” He added. “We have to catch up. Really. Please. Let me-”

He finally took notice of Thomas, and his mouth opened in astonishment.

“Goodness, isn’t it… Thomas? Thomas Barrow?”

Lord Westforth emitted a nervous chuckle.

“Ah yes, yes, he is my… my driver.”

“BUTLER,” corrected Thomas, outraged at this betrayal.

“Yes, my butler,” Lord Westforth confirmed, an awkward smile painted over his face.

The Duke turned to Thomas.

“Fancy that. All up in the world. Little Thomas was always so ambitious and… dedicated. With a very special set of skills.”

Thomas’s colours left his cheeks. Lord Westforth waved his stick in the Duke’s face, trying to get his attention.

“I, yes, yes, diner you said, absolutely! Let’s do that. Soon. I had a mind to start receiving again in a year or two, why don’t you-”

The Duke turned his attention back to his friend.

“A year! Don’t be daft! I’m in town for the week. Let’s say I come tomorrow?”

His Lordship sighed.

“I’m not sure I have food for a Duke.”

The Duke smiled at the Viscount with idolising eyes. Thomas winced in disgust. _Or is this jealousy...?_

“I’m not coming for the food, Adam. Tomorrow then!”

He set out to leave, but turned back with a hearty laugh.

“And don’t pretend you’re unwell anymore, I’ve haven’t seen you so well in years!”

Lord Westforth gave out a sigh that sounded more like a whimper.

“I won’t ask if you don’t,” he snapped, stopping Thomas short as he was opening his mouth.

“That might convince you to diverse your wardrobe,” Thomas mumbled sulkily.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to warn you here and in the next chapter.  
> My version of the Duke somewhat complex. He is not always a nice or decent man. 
> 
>  
> 
> There is mention of non-con sex in the next chapter.


	13. Behold His Grace, the Duke of Bad Manners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING  
> This chapter contains mentions of Non-Con sexual relationship, AS DOES the next one.  
> Don't worry, nothing too ghastly, but proceed with usual caution.

The Viscountess rolled her eyes when she found out that the Duke had invited himself to dine with them the following day. “Some things never change,” she muttered, waving her hands.

 

Who was the most nervous between Thomas and Adam? I couldn’t say. They both felt that they had something to hide from each other. They also both wanted to confide in each other, as they appreciated bonding over their mutual dislike of _The Duke_. But being British and silly, they said nothing in the short span that separated them from the impromptus visit.

 

At last, the time had come. In an hour the Duke would be there. Thomas climbed up the stairs to his Lordship’s bedroom and found the Viscount sitting on his bed, biting at his nails, absolutely dishevelled. His hair had grown a bit over the last weeks and had started to curl in every direction. Thomas considered the beautiful mess he was for a moment.

In comparison he _did_ look as stiff as a mannequin.

“How does his Lordship want to dress for a duke?” Thomas inquired, clearing his throat.

The Viscount glanced up and scoffed.

“For this one, in my nightclothes.”

Thomas frowned. “Sir?”

“I mean, that’s all the respect I have for this one,” his Lordship added, jumping to his feet.

Their eyes met. They laughed timidly.

“Find something that makes me look unpleasant, Thomas.” He took a deep breath, still smiling.

“That’s going to be difficult, my Lord.”

He sighed. “I know.”

Thomas glanced at him, scoffing. Lord Westforth nodded back at him.

“I know exactly how I look. People have been telling me my whole life. I’m not going to insult you by pretending otherwise.”

“Beautiful and vain,” Thomas said softly.

His Lordship coughed.

“That was a long time ago. Now it’s beautiful and nothing.”

They remained silent, standing awkwardly, avoiding each other’s gaze.

“You shouldn’t give up my Lord,” Thomas said after a while.

His Lordship shrugged.

“Who said I did? I’m still here, aren’t I? Now dress me or leave. I have to entertain the Duke. It’s going to be a long night.”

 

The Duke was accompanied by a man - but it is of no surprise for your narrator - named Sir Paul Jenkins. He was a forty-something attorney of some consequence in London. He seemed like a decent fellow, but all everyone was thinking about was finishing supper and go to bed. The cunning Duke expressed his wish to stay the night, under some clever pretext involving a train and some mysterious errand.

 

Thomas had to ask Esther to prepare a room, and he felt annoyed at the Duke’s behaviour. Even more so, when it couldn’t have been clearer that the Duke was infatuated with HIS Lordship, and must had been since well before the war. He shared some blurry and distant tales about the fun they used to have and the people they used to meet. His Lordship, uncomfortable in his evening white tails, suffered through it with an occasional yawn, but pulled through to humour her Ladyship until she went upstairs.

 

The men withdrew to the drawing room to drink and smoke cigars. Lord Westforth was already four glasses ahead, but Thomas, standing by the table, was carefully counting, and knowing his Lordship, he knew he could handle a couple of others before starting slurring and stumbling. All seemed well, at first.

The Duke was clearly displeased. It was obvious that he wasn’t interested in Jenkins, so Thomas wondered why he brought him at all. He seemed increasingly annoyed at Adam’s indifference toward him. He flattered and cast his most devilish smiles, to no avail. The Viscount was barely talking, only glancing at Thomas for a refill, preferring to listen to Jenkins tales of cases and travels with a distant ear.

After a while, the Duke, inebriated and jealous, started sliding his eyes back and forth between his friend and Thomas, apparently making up his mind about something. The Duke was never very good at hiding his intentions. He never really had to. He was a duke. So when he opened his mouth, Lord Westforth stiffened, understanding his bad intentions.

“Let’s talk about Thomas,” he started, a threatening smirk on his lips.

“Who?” His Lordship asked cunningly.

Thomas repressed a laugh. He shook his head affectionally.

“The butler Thomas,” the Duke added, pointing at him. “Or should I say, the former footman.”

His Lordship yawned.

“Oh well, I didn’t know you held a fascination for former footmen.”

“For this one, maybe.”

He leaned forwards, observed by the interrogative Jenkins.

“Do you want to know how we met?” He asked his Lordship, grinning.

Lord Westforth stared back, with the same familiar cold and despising stare he reserved for Thomas until the day before.

“Now why would I want to know about that?”

“Because it’s entertaining. Because I might tell you things about him that you might want to know?”

His Lordship glanced at Thomas and sighed as he raised his glass.

“All I want to know about Thomas is if he can fill my drink.”

The Duke remained silent for a moment, observing Thomas, who remained composed. He let his eyes linger on him and ultimately noticed his glove.

“Is that a war wound, Mr Barrow?” He asked slyly.

“Yes it is, your Grace.”

“How did you get it?”

“The poor man might not want to talk about it,” said Jenkins, who now looked utterly uncomfortable.

“Of course he does, he’s a war hero. And war made better men of us all, isn’t it true, Adam?”

Lord Westforth shifted in his seat, clearing his throat.

“Not all,” he said coldly. “I don’t think you have changed at all, Philip.”

The Duke turned toward him, smiling.

“Oh no?”

His Lordship shook his head.

“No”.

The Duke’s smile vanished. “You make me appear so cold.”

“You are painting that picture of yourself.”

“I hope to convince you that you are wrong. I am a very warm person, quite warm, really. And I don’t intend to be any other way.”

His Lordship smirked and raised his glass.

“I wouldn’t worry too much then. They’ll be plenty of heat where you’re headed at this rate anyway.”

The Duke leaned back in his seat, wounded.

 Lord Westforth looked up at the clock. It wasn’t that late. He would have to put up appearances a bit longer. He lit up a cigarette instead. The Duke watched him blow the smoke with devouring eyes, gulping down drink after drink. Thomas suppressed an annoyed sigh.

“Don’t you know, that by the smallest of coincidences,” the Duke began, relentless. “Paul here was acquainted to Edgar Folley? Through his family.”

His Lordship choked on a cough. “Pardon me?” His eyes reddened, irritated by the smoke.

“Yes, yes, I knew Edgar,” Jenkins confirmed amiably. “Well, I knew him after his accident. You see, his family contacted me to file a complaint for him and others like him, in an attempt to raise awareness and funds. Given what happened, we had to put him in another category. We’re still working on a kind of compensation.”

His Lordship looked as if his five whiskies had finally caught up with him. His breathing became increasingly ragged. He grabbed the edges of his seat and squeezed them until his knuckles turned white.

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t an accident,” he said in a gruff voice.

The Duke shrugged. “Poor Edgar. He was the life of the party. Such a handsome man. You said the war didn’t change me, but it sure did change him.” He started chuckling but the laughter died in his throat, and he shook his head, finally aware of his own nastiness. He blushed and stared down at his feet, as Jenkins stared at him mortified. 

His Lordship started to blink ferociously, his face agitated with odd twitches. He stood up, incapable of concealing his discomfort.

“I’m ever so sorry. My head…”

The Duke kept his eyes on his feet.

“I can’t… I can’t stay,” his Lordship mumbled. “Please forgive me.”

 

Thomas sprung forward, but Lord Westforth, obviously in some kind of pain, raised a hand to stop him. “No thank you Brooks, I’ll be fine.” He staggered outside, shutting the door behind him.

“Why would you get me started on the subject!” Jenkins cried, rightfully dismayed. “Did you know it would upset him? I feel terrible!” He turned to Thomas. “I am so sorry, Brooks.”

Thomas ignored Jenkins and gave The Duke a nasty stare, but there was nothing he could do about it. He diligently filled their drinks as the Duke waved him to do so.

 

Five minutes later, Jenkins bid them farewell and the Duke went upstairs to his bedroom. It was barely midnight. Thomas was worried. His Lordship had shown signs of agitation and confusion that reminded him of the condition he was in when he had met him.

 _That bloody Duke, who can’t handle his jealousy. What an amateur_ , thought Thomas. _I’ve been handling it for weeks, months!_ But he was no Duke. He wasn’t one of them. Who gave and took at leisure, unconcerned with people’s feelings, disdainful of anyone below their rank.

 

Thomas brought down a tray from the drawing room and sat with Agathe in the servants hall. He told her what happened. He usually avoided her, but this time, he told her. She merely shrugged.

“The Duke has been writing and calling occasionally for years, ever since Mr Folley died. He’s obsessed with his Lordship. Everyone knows that.”

 _Everyone knows that, blah blah blah._ Thomas grimaced. Then he jumped on his seat.

“That doesn’t shock you?” He asked. _Was that true then? The french don’t care about things like that because they have a lower sense of decency._ He had heard such speech from the Dowager Countess at Downton. Could it be true? He could move to France then. He would look very fine in a beret, playing the accordion on the Croisette.

She snorted. “You’re a funny one.”

“Wait, so you think the Duke and his Lordship…?” He asked, frowning.

“I don’t know! I don’t spend as much time with his Lordship as you do!” She laughed. “Why don’t you figure it out? Or better still, ask him straight to his face. Knowing you like I do, it would take you five years to find the answer.“ She paused. “The only thing I know for a fact, is that the Duke has been calling and writing and that his Lordship never invited him. Penelope told me so herself. So you see, I don’t think he’s into it.”

Thomas stared down at his cup of tea, thinking of his Lordship and how broken he looked after mention of Edgar.

“But,” he said softly, “do you think his Lordship and Mr Folley were… you know…”

She stood up with a long sigh, pointing at his saucer.

“Mr Barrow. If you want to be useful, bring him up a cup of that tea. I can assure you that he’s upstairs right now hurting and taking those things that make him sleepy and ghostly.”

“He’ll be sleeping. He won’t need me.”

She scoffed.

“Either way, he’ll be needing a cup of tea.”

Thomas nodded silently and observed her climb up the servant’s staircase. “That’s a good idea”, he thought. “I’ll bring my Lord a cup of tea.”

He put a steaming cup of tea on a tray and added a slice of lemon. He knew his Lordship would appreciate, because even if he didn’t have it with the tea, Thomas knew that it would be used in one of his secrets drinks he was enjoying in his bedroom.

 

Everything was dead quiet in the dark corridor. Twenty past midnight. His Lordship was surely sleeping. Thomas would just open the door and leave the tray. No need to knock.

Thomas paused in front of the door, checking the perfect arrangement he made on the tray, then quietly pushed it open. He had to stop short, for he couldn’t believe what he saw.

Bathed in the dim light of the nightstand lamp, the Duke was crouched over his Lordship, who was lying face down on the bed. His Grace was clothed, but he had somewhat pulled down the Viscount’s trousers and had a hand under his shirt. Thomas could have sworn he was holding down his Lordship with his spare hand a second before, but that he removed it as soon as he saw him.

The Duke froze, staring at Thomas like a startled deer. His Lordship was barely conscious, definitely high on barbiturates.

“What’s going on here?” Thomas said quietly, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

The Duke didn’t move. “It’s not what it looks like,” he said. “We were talking and you know, you know how it goes… One thing leading to another and-“

“Your Lordship,” Thomas repeated in a louder, pondered voice. “What is going on here?”

Lord Westforth looked up with cloudy eyes.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled sleepily, managing a shrug. He sighed. “Can you please get rid of him?”

“Of course.” Thomas waved at the Duke to stand up. His Grace stumbled to his feet.

“Don’t look at me like that, Thomas. It’s really not like that.”

He straightened his night robe and brushed by Thomas with a sigh. Thomas halted him with his free hand.

“That was really low, even for you,” he growled.

The Duke tried to push through. Thomas stopped him with the palm of his hand.

“Know this.” His voice was trembling with rage. “If you ever go near him again, I will gladly knock down your teeth and make you choke on them, if it’s the last thing I do.”

The Duke gazed at Thomas with glittering black eyes.

“Look Thomas I’m sorry. I never meant for anything to-“

“Good night, _Your Grace_.”

Thomas opened the door for him. He left quietly.

 

Thomas hurried towards his Lordship who was trying to cover himself, but was clearly too out of it to perform the simplest tasks. Thomas carefully dressed him, straightened his shirt, and softly tucked him back in.

“My poor Lordship,” he murmured.

“I just want to sleep, why are there so many people in my room!”

He was sinking back into his heavy substance-induced sleep. Thomas heard him ranting weakly and it made him smile.

“Bloody hell. Strangers in my bed… Are we back in Paris?”

He fell asleep and Thomas thought of spending the night on the chair by the bed. But as he moved he realised that his Lordship was holding his wrist. He sighed and slid back on the covers next to him.

“You’ve got me there,” he whispered softly. “How the mighty have fallen…”


	14. Behind closed doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be aware that this chapter contains mentions of Non-Con.

_I’m used to it. The pain under my skin as my face twitches uncontrollably. It’s the mention of his name. It brings me back. Everything spins and turns black. I see pieces of people. I see soiled matter scattered on the ground. I see smiling faces on burning paper. Then when I hear a bang, I know it’s too late._

_The Duke is cunning and he got it right. I can’t handle this. I’m flying upstairs as bells rang by. I don’t see myself opening the door. I fumble with my clothes, tear them off, hear them drop on the floor with a ruffling sound. My nightclothes are gone. I stumble to the night stand, can’t find the bottle. Here it is. I grab a couple of capsules, then more. I’m tougher than them now. Or are they tougher than me? Can’t remember. Swallow them all. Pick up another, afraid of nightmares. Probably tougher than me.I remember I’ve cut myself off lately. Put the pill on the nightstand. I hear it roll to the floor. Can’t be bothered. Have some water. It may have been something else. Who cares? I’m cold. I’m hot. But mostly, I’m cold. I find my nightclothes, put them on. Pull back the bedclothes. Lay on the bed. Waiting for the darkness. I see your face and hers. Pray I’ll be healed tomorrow. Here it comes._

_I struggle to open my eyes. There’s someone here, talking to me. I feel so heavy. I can’t seem to recognise this voice. I concentrate but all my senses seem to have turned into cotton. “Who’s this?” I hear myself splutter. Tongue so thick I can barely understand myself. I feel numb. I feel dumb. The voice is speaking gibberish to me. I flutter my eyelids, or at least give the command. They’re so heavy. There. Eyes open. Can’t see much, everything’s blurry. It’s the Duke of Bad Manners. What the hell does he want… I don’t feel like talking. “I don’t talk like thinking,” I slur. Odd response, or no response, I don’t know. I feel a hand on my cheek, but it’s not hers. “I’m sleeping.” I’m drooling. I’m a_ gentleman _. I think I’m swearing. Habit I picked up since the damn butler’s here. “I’m so sorry about tonight,” I hear him say. “What are you on about?” I try to straighten myself up but something soft and fluffy swallows me hole. It must be the pillows. “It’s all my fault,” I hear, “It’s all my fault.” “Aye aye, old chap,” I say, trying to bump his shoulder with my fist but meeting only air. “Don’t mention it.” He leans in closer, I can see him through my squinted eyes. “I want to make it up to you,” he whispers. Hot whisky breath on my cheeks. His eyes are wet and grotesque and they make me feel small._

_I shake my head, or more likely throw it back on the pillow. “I’m sleeping.” I can feel his hands cupping my jaw. I try to move but I’m too heavy. It’s useless. I manage to roll over before he does anything stupid. Lie face down on the sheets. Comfortable. Will sleep now. He’s still talking, makes me angry. “We’ll talk in the morning.” I’m not sure I’m clear. I can’t hear myself. In a second, his hands are all over me. I moan into the sheets. He misreads it and grabs me by the shoulders. “Philip? I’m unwell,” I breathe. “I just want to help,” he says. I feel lips on my cheek, soft and warm. Then on my neck. Then on my back. Familiar feeling. But unwanted. I feel myself drifting, back to the plutonian shores. I’m so tired. Darkness awaits me._

_I shake my head, prompt by some odd instinct. His hands are still all over me. I feel pressure on my back. Turn my head to catch a glimpse of his face, his eyes are black and shiny as he speaks to me. “Get off me,” I think I say. I almost chuckle._ What is he doing? _This is grotesque. More lips on my cheek. Now on my lips. I wince. I hear a muffled noise. “You’re so beautiful”._ And vain _, I think. I’m slowly getting it. I attempt a move but he buries me deeper into the bedclothes. I think I know what’s happening._

“What can I do for you, my Lord?” _His face flashes into my mind. “Thomas!” I call. “He won’t mind,” I hear. “We’ve been there before”. I’m struggling for freedom. I am struggling, aren’t I? A cold angry tear tumbles down my burning cheek. I’m not moving at all. He weighs too much. I stare at the door. Hopefully. I feel myself slithering down the edge of the bed. It’s not me. It’s something else. I’m done._

 

_My eyes open. I clench my fingers. They only meet emptiness. Morning sun cast a ray of light where he must have lain before._

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thomas rose before five o’clock. His Lordship hadn’t move and his fingers were still wrapped around his wrist. Thomas gently pulled away with a sigh. He didn’t want his Lordship to find him in his bed when he’d woke up. Thomas could bet his own fingers that Lord Westforth wouldn’t like that. Not one bit.

 

As he was quietly enjoying tea downstairs, his thoughts drifted toward the events of the last days. So much had happened, and yet so little. He felt as if he was wandering through dark corridors, hurling himself at closed doors. The sound of a car stopping outside brought him back to reality. He got out and caught a glimpse of the Duke hastily getting in a cab.

“Always sneaking out before breakfast, this one,” he said to himself while getting back inside. “Good riddance.”

“Did his Lordship appreciate the tea?” Agathe asked, smiling.

“I was right, he was asleep,” Thomas replied flatly.

She shrugged. “I’m sure he was, Mr Barrow. I’m sure he was.”

He grimaced being her back.

It was best not to mention anything that happened last night before he could speak to his Lordship.

 

 

At seven o’clock, her Ladyship rang the bell, and Esther rushed upstairs. Thomas didn’t know when his Lordship would wake, but much to his surprise, his own bell rang fifteen minutes later. Thomas flew up the stairs, more than a bit nervous. Would he or wouldn’t he remember? Thomas would have to act accordingly.

He found him sitting on his bed, still slightly sedated. He had too much barbiturates last night. And too much alcohol. That should keep him quiet for the day.

He helped him up and dressed him up like a doll, barely getting any response. Thomas killed the painful urge to wrap his arms around him, to put his lips on the back of his neck, to bring him some comfort. About last night. About Edgar, also. About everything.

He tried to get a reaction from him, even if it was the famous sneer. But Lord Westforth would just allow himself to be dressed without uttering a sound, eyes fixed absently on the floor.

Thomas dared not ask anything. He applied himself to make his Lordship look like nothing ever happened.

 

“The Duke is already gone,” said The Viscountess at breakfast. “Why? I thought we would never get rid of him once we had let him in. Or did you give him enough of your time that he was contented?”

His Lordship looked up, shrugged. “Don’t know,” he mumbled.

“Was it so tedious an evening that he ran away?” She insisted.

Thomas sensed that she knew something wasn’t right.

His Lordship shook his head, glancing furtively at Thomas, then back at her.

“I don’t know. He was just being… the Duke, you know?”

“Did he try to get into your pants again?” She chuckled.

Thomas couldn’t repress a cough. He had to put down the silver coffee pot he was holding.

She put a hand in front of her mouth, eyes twinkling. “Oops, I’m so sorry Thomas. Didn’t mean to shock you.”

He waved a finger at her to signal her not to worry, still coughing.

“It’s nothing m’lady. Unrelated.”

She focused back on his Lordship, an eyebrow lifted in expectation of an answer.

He scoffed softly, his lips curling into an enigmatic smile.

“No more than usual.”

She sneered.

“The Duke. Isn’t he a happily married man?”

His Lordship cleared his throat. Thomas suspected that his presence forbade him to speak freely.

“He is indeed married, my dear. But he’ll never be happy.”

She nodded haughtily while turning the page of her newspaper.

“You don’t have to tell me that.”

 

Thomas spent the day pondering. He wanted to know. Did his Lordship remember or not? If he didn’t, should Thomas remind him? It might upset him. But he also deserved to know the truth. There might be some actions to be taken here. Or did his Lordship feigned to have forgotten? He was good at concealing his feelings under the veil of his medical condition. Thomas clenched his fists. He wanted revenge. He wanted to knock down the Duke’s teeth and watch him beg for his life. But that wasn’t his decision.

He had to talk to The Viscount himself.

 

 

 


	15. Hawaii.

He chose his moment after diner. It was barely eight o’clock and his Lordship already expressed his wish to get to bed. He rang for Thomas, who brought him tea and lemon.

They both stood a few inches apart as he undressed him in the forgiving evening light. Thomas helped his Lordship to his night robe, and witnessed him hesitate while wrinkling the fabric of his sleeve.

“Is anything the matter?” Thomas asked, frowning.

His Lordship, looking serious, observed Thomas for a few seconds, before taking off the robe with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. I don’t feel like wearing this anymore. Get me a new one.”

“Of course my Lord.” He picked another from the wardrobe.

“And no need to bring it back. I don’t think I’ll wear it again.”

Thomas paused. He helped his Lordship slip inside the new robe, while staring at his reflexion in the mirror.

“You know.” He stated softly.

His Lordship glanced up. “Of course I do. What do you expect.”

He lit up a cigarette and turned to Thomas.

“It’s not as bad as you think.” He smiled.

Thomas remained still. He knew his job was done and that he should leave. He knew. 

“Quite the opposite, my Lord,” he said in a weak voice. “I do think it’s bad. You ought to do something about it.”

His Lordship threw his head back with a sigh.

“Trust me, it’s not. If I had to press charges every time the Duke tried to seduce me at a party, I would have never left the court house.”

Thomas swallowed, an expression of disgust on his face.

“It’s not exactly what happened. You might not remember everything. You were quite out of it.”

His Lordship started chewing his lip.

“You’re concerned. I appreciate it.” He gave a faint smile.

Thomas's anger rattled against his brain. _Concerned? He couldn’t possibly understand what I saw when I opened the door, at the sight of him, HIM, pined down on his own bed, utterly helpless?_

 

His Lordship headed toward a window and fumbled with one of the carved wooden panels ornamenting the wall. The panel slid sideways to reveal a small cavity. He reached out inside and drew out a bottle of vodka.

He waved it at Thomas with a tentative smile. “Let's say I owe you a drink?”

Thomas scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “There it is. How did you..?”

“It’s an old house. I know it well.” He was puckish.

“Where do you get the vodka?” Thomas asked, as his Lordship picked up a glass that needed a good wash, shrugged and filled it with vodka. He stepped toward Thomas, emptying the cup of tea in the closest bunch of flowers and offered it back to him, filled with liquor.

“I nick it from the kitchens. Don’t you ever nick from the kitchens?”

Thomas shook his head. “I used to, when I was young.”

He glanced up at his Lordship and sighed.

“My Lord, this doesn’t seem right. Shouldn’t we do something about the Du-?”

“Stop it,” He interrupted, serious. “We are not telling anyone. Nothing happened. I don’t ever want the police to show up on our doorstep and start asking questions. Nothing happened, Thomas.”

His expression softened as he stepped closer. Thomas felt his intestines liquefy with want. He gasped for air, trying to ignore the tension rising in his groin. His lordship drew closer, almost whispering now. Thomas bit his lip in desperation

“Her Ladyship mustn’t know about all this nonsense, and mustn’t be disturbed by any investigation. We protect each other. Do you understand? Everyone has secrets. In this household, we are here for each other. This is what we do. She protects you and you protect her. She protects me, and I protect her.”

“And I protect you and you protect me?” Thomas asked in a small high-pitched voice.

His Lordship cast him an amused smile and emptied hungrily. He looked at Thomas with an newfound affability, eyes shining brightly in the dim light cast by the lamps.

“Last night, you have saved me from a great ordeal, and a great embarrassment. I owe you so much. Please, know that I know that.”

His grateful expression sent shivers down Thomas’s spine, who started to tremble helplessly. He remembered his drink and gulped it down hastily.

His Lordship quickly spun around to pick up the bottle behind him. “Have another, please!”

Thomas filled his lungs with air, his hands shaking.

“There!” His Lordship’s face was back in his field of vision, blond haired and blue eyed and flushed by the booze.

“My Lord…” Thomas said weakly. He couldn’t conceal his tremor any longer.

The Viscount froze, concerned.

“Goodness Thomas, are you alright? You look very ill.”

Thomas’s gathered the last of his strength to scrutinize his Lordship’s face for any sign, _any sign of it_ , of the feeling that had been devouring him mercilessly for weeks now, that nerve-wracking yearning, this aching for a simple gaze, a simple touch… Any sign of it would be a simple but earth-shattering proof of mutual affection.

His Lordship grimaced and chuckled.

“What is it now? God you’re so odd.”

Thomas didn’t flinch. _It was there it was there it had to be there._

His Lordship’s smile slowly faded as he began to understand Thomas’s intentions. He clasped his fingers around the bottle he was holding. His knuckles whitened. Something flinched in his stare and he blinked it away.

 _There_.

Still trembling, Thomas slowly leaned in and pressed his lips against his Lordship’s. He tasted lemon and vodka on them. He felt hot air on his skin as Lord Westforth’s breathing started to accelerate. He was as still as a statue, shaking softly.

Thomas put a reassuring hand on his arm and felt his tiny blond hair rise up, summoned by an invisible electric wave.He stifled a moan and pressed his lips with more intent. He heard the bottle the Viscount was still holding fall to the carpet with a muffled sound.

“No.”

The word cut through their kiss like an executioner's blade.

His Lordship broke free, pushing Thomas away with a trembling but firm hand. He quickly put some distance between them.

Thomas glanced up in surprise. The Viscount was staring at him, all traces of softness gone from his eyes, and replaced by a sheer terror that made Thomas step back in horror.

“What are you doing?” His Lordship said, in an almost imperceptible voice, lips pursed in a repulsed grimace. He turned away from him, staggered toward the window.

Thomas felt his legs give away and clung to the bed frame for balance.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry my Lord!” He croaked, now violently trembling, as the reality of what he had done sunk in.

 

_He had done it. He had done it this time. He was going to lose his job. He could even go to prison. He had kissed his employer. His Lord and master. The Viscount of fucking Westforth. He’s staring at me as if I’m a monster. He saw me. He knows me now and he doesn’t want to look at me._

Thomas was sweating profusely. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, before rushing out in a panic, unwelcome tears now streaming down his face. He slammed the door and stumbled away helplessly. He had a sudden memory of the worst night of his life, as he had tried to kiss Jimmy. And Jimmy’s reaction. His anger, his disgust. Then Mr Carson’s disapproving stares.

_“Foul”, he called me. Am I foul? Why did I think I could kiss his Lordship? Is anything ever real? Or do I convince myself it is? Why am I so fucking hopeless!_

"No!" He whimpered to himself, trying to chase the memory away. He realised he was still in the corridor, his sight cloudy with tears, standing awkwardly. Loud sobs came and went taring at his lungs, and he let himself slide down a wall when his legs finally gave away.

“I just want to disappear,” he wimpered. “I’m just an embarrassment.”

“Well well, _what on Earth_ is going on here?”

He glanced up in a panic. Her Ladyship was standing in front of him, still dressed. It was still early. He remembered now.

“I’m so sorry my Lady, I’m so sorry.” He started sobbing again.

_There is no point struggling. Put me away. Put me down. It doesn't matter anymore._

Her beautiful features were distraught by empathy. “Thomas,” she said softly, as she kneeled by him. “You can tell me. You _must_ tell me.”

“I ‘m-I’m so sorry.” He shook his head and tried to catch his breath. “I’ve done it this time,” he said, sniffing.

She reached for his chin to get a better look at him.

“What happened, Thomas?”

“His Lordship,” he sobbed, “I’m so sorry, I tried, but I couldn’t…”

She withdrew her hand, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“I”m sorry. I never wanted…”

“What have you done?” She asked sharply, stumbling to her feet.

He grabbed her wrist, in a foolish attempt to stop her. “Please, forgive me…”

She pulled her hand free with a startled expression. He stared through his tears as she ran to his Lordship’s room. His sobs stopped as he watched her get in.

“I’m done,” he thought. “I’m just so done with this shit.”

He raised himself to his feet, his breathing still uneven. He had to his mind to reach his bedroom and collapse on his bed, as an angry child would do. He was no better than that after all.

He heard his Lordship’s bedroom door open and shut behind him. He decided it was not worth looking back.

“Thomas. Thomas!”

That was her. She was whispering.

He sighed and spun around, defeated.

She trotted up to him, anxiety written all over her face, and held up a tissue to his face. She started moping the tears. Thomas stumbled back, dumbfounded. She grabbed him by his tailcoat, clicking her tongue disapprovingly.

“Thomas, hold still,” she commanded.

“I’m a fool,” he said. “Please let me go.”

“You are a fool at this moment. I have to agree. What is wrong with you to be in such a state over nothing?”

“I beg your pardon?” Thomas stumbled back.

It didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t know what you think you’ve done, but his Lordship is fine!”

“Is he?”

“Yes!” She shook her head. “Well he’s drunk out of his mind, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Thomas dared feeling the first wave or relief as it lifted his darkest thoughts.

“Look,” she said, “I don’t know what happened, but it couldn’t be that bad, or, he doesn’t remember. Either way you got yourself a freebie.”

She chuckled and winked. Then she hugged him. He was too nonplussed to react.

“You put yourself through so much for him! I’m ever so grateful. But don't let him get to you so much. You were in such a state, you frightened me.”

She set out to straighten his vest.

“What did he say?” Thomas asked, sniffing.

“Only that you had done nothing other than what you had always been doing. That it was ridiculous to be a such a state of dismay, as a butler AND as an Englishman, and also that he had never wanted to hire you in the first place.” She smirked. “You know, the usual stuff.”

He couldn’t help a relieved scoff to escape from his mouth.

“Perhaps he really does have a very short memory.”

She nodded.

“He’s an idiot. I mean it. Perhaps not before. But now he is. And if you want to help out, you cannot allow yourself to be more of an idiot that he is.”

Thomas managed to nod.

“Thank you my Lady. For you kind and wise words.”

She laughed softly.

“Thomas, get a rest. Take a day off. Forget about him. Receive some friends. His Lordship is intoxicating. He demands a lot of our energy, and at this rate he might wear you out.. Give yourself a break. That will do you both some good.”

Thomas straightened himself and set out to go to sleep.

 _I need a break,_ he thought on the way to his bedroom. _I need a break._

_I need Jimmy._


	16. All you need is Jimmy.

Since Lord Westforth was in much better health now, his wife Emma wanted to receive people again. She talked of diner and parties, of enjoying life again, of meeting new young spirits and share new knowledge and wine. She just loved the drama.

A week after Thomas’s unfortunate attempt of a breakthrough, she slammed her newspaper on the breakfast table and clapped her hands excitedly.

“I want a new footman!” She tweeted cheerfully.

Lord Westforth was gazing out of the window, apparently miles away.

“Yes my dear”, he mumbled. “Anything you want.”

“Parties mean service and running and sweating, and Thomas is too important for that. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, of course. Hire a footman. If you can find one out there.”

He shrugged and turned his attention to his eggs, only to sigh and push his plate away.

“He’s hungover,” Thomas thought, repressing an amused smile.

 

The past week had brought its changes in their relationship. His Lordship acted more formally than ever, treating Thomas like any Lord would treat his butler. Thomas had been too happy to obliged, relieved that his temporary loss of mind didn’t cost him his job. Or worse. But his Lordship had been drinking, and Thomas knew it, because he checked the level of liquor hidden in the secret cavity in the wall.

“Thomas!” Called The Viscountess.

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Do you know any footman, well trained and of good character?”

His Lordship looked up, but as he met Thomas’s stare, promptly focused back on his plate.

“Only the ones I’ve met at the Abbey, my Lady.”

“Hmm.” She chewed thoughtfully. “Anyone of them being in need of a job?”

Thomas took a moment to think about it.“I’m not sure my Lady. But as it happens, a friend of mine is coming to visit me tomorrow. He was a footman at Downton, and I’m not sure about what he’s doing at the moment. I haven’t seen him in a while. I might ask, if you will.”

“Goody goody!” She tittered. “A friend, how exciting.”

His Lordship said nothing, his eyes fixed on his glass. Thomas’s face brightened as he smiled, thinking of his visitor.

“My closest friend, really.”

The Viscount snorted. “Your closest friend?” He blurted.

Thomas stiffened, slightly offended. “What about it, my Lord?”

His Lordship shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t have friends!”

Her Ladyship rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her newspaper. Thomas smiled at him.

“I have this one, my Lord. And he’s coming tomorrow.”

His Lordship shrugged haughtily. Lady Mary couldn’t have done it better. And she’s the _Queen of shrugs_.

 

Thomas was off the next day. He was pacing excitedly outside the house, smoking cigarettes one after the other, anxious to see Jimmy. He was wearing his own clothes, and appreciated the relief of being out of his rigid uniform. Enjoying a deep breath of fresh air, he noticed something moving behind his Lordship’s window.

A blond head, swiftly withdrawing as it met his stare.

Thomas shrugged it off. This was his day. He wouldn’t worry about the Viscount today. He stubbed out his cigarette as her Ladyship popped her head out of the front door. He nodded at her. She trotted out, smiling excitedly.

“So, it’s your big day!” She said, raising her eyebrows teasingly.

“I’m happy to see my friend,” Thomas replied, doing a better job at concealing his excitement than her.

“It was a brilliant idea,” she whispered. “I wish I had thought of it before.”

“What? Friends?” Thomas asked, failing to understand.

Her excitement died on the spot.

“Nothing. Forget it. I’d love to meet him, though.”

“I’d be honoured my Lady.” He paused. “Would you mind if I were to take him for a walk in your gardens?”

She waved her hand in his face, chuckling.

“Pray, do! What a good plan!”

She swirled around and trotted back to the house.

Contented, Thomas checked out his watch. Only a few hours longer to wait. He glanced up at the Viscount’s window, and again noticed his Lordship staring at him. He waved. Lord Westforth nodded curtly.

 

A few hours later, Thomas got the pleasure of seeing Jimmy again. He looked as handsome as when he last saw him. Groomed and smug and ever so charming. They shared a cigarette as he welcomed him at the front gate, then Thomas took him to his Lordship’s garden for a walk.

They shared news of their mutual acquaintances and exchanged a few old memories of their time at Downton. As they wandered through the gardens, Thomas noticed two silhouettes approaching. Her Ladyship was trotting towards them, clenching her husband’s arm. He was ostentatiously dragging his cane behind him, causing him to stumble.

“They want to meet you,” Thomas warned Jimmy, who merely raised his eyebrows. “Well, she does anyway.”

“My my, who is _that_!” She tweeted as they reached them under the shade of the japanese cherry tree.

She smiled amiably, as opposed to her husband, who was inspecting Jimmy from head to toes with a distraught, contempt-filled glare.

“Lord and Lady Westforth,” Thomas introduced. “This is my friend James Kent.”

His Lordship stared haughtily as the young man lifted his hat to greet them.

“He is the … footman from Downton I told you about yesterday.” Thomas added.

“I’m not hiring him!” The Viscount cried in alarm, pointing his cane at Jimmy with bulging eyes.

The information had sinked in.

“Oh goody!” Her Ladyship shot him an icy glare. “Because no one asked you to.”

“I’m not looking for a job, my Lord,” Jimmy said, staring at his Lordship with the smug assurance young handsome men often have when they’re well aware that they’re young and handsome.

Lord Westforth groaned and took a step back, sulkily lying on his cane while pretending not to see them.

“Jimmy works for a piano company now. In London,” Thomas said, not without pride.

“We don’t need a piano,” his Lordship mumbled.

Jimmy scoffed at him with an amused disdain.

“Again, my Lord, I’m not looking for a job, as I’ve already made clear.”

Lord Westforth shrugged.

Thomas, used to his Lordship’s mood swings and erratic behaviour, went on ignoring him.

“Jimmy used to play piano for us at Downton, in the servants hall. It was lovely.”

“Oh what a skillful young man!” Her Ladyship was beaming. “And so good looking too!”

Thomas couldn’t suppress a chuckle. Jimmy puffed his chest, casting her his most flirtatious smile.

“Thank you, my Lady.”

The murderous glare his Lordship then cast him would have made anyone else want to bury themselves in the ground. But Jimmy Kent couldn’t care less. He shrugged at him and kept on smiling.

“You must come and play for us, James,” Lady Westforth insisted.

Thomas nodded vigorously.

“I don’t see why not, if you’ll have me, my Lady,” the young man replied with a bow.

She clapped her hands. Her husband hammered his cane into the grass with angry stomps.

Jimmy seemed to have the time of his life. He motioned at his Lordship with his brightest and broadest smile.

“Do you play the piano, my Lord?

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“What do you do?”

His Lordship shrugged, raising his chin.

“I shoot.”

Jimmy chuckled.

“Impressive. What do you shoot?”

Lord Westforth leaned on his cane thoughtfully.

“People.”

Jimmy’s smug smile evaporated. So did the colours in his cheeks.

“My husband has spent too much time in the war,” said the Viscountess, grabbing his Lordship's arm. She pulled him towards the house.

“Haven’t we all,” Jimmy replied, still looking awkward.

“We’ll leave you to it, then”, she smiled, still tugging at Lord Westforth’s arm, whose eyes were slowly moving from Thomas to Jimmy, sunk in his train of thoughts. “We have to do... this thing. We have to-”

“... milk the cow,” his Lordship’s said absently.

Jimmy snorted, but Thomas frowned.

“You don’t have a cow my Lord.”

Her Ladyship’s gave out the loudest sigh.

“We don’t have a cow, Adam.”

His Lordship snapped out of his reverie, now realising the stupidity of what he said.

“I was joking”, he said, rather awkwardly. “I just didn’t want to… I didn’t want to embarrass his friend with our… our aristocratic activities.”

He screwed his eyes shut, unable to ignore the absurdity of his words.

“Now you know!” He smiled, taking a few steps back. “So, we’re going back to… doing our people stuff, and you- you do whatever it is you’re doing.”

Jimmy nodded at him, with the anxious politeness one reserves to the mentally insane.

“You should come for diner!” His Lordship shouted at them in the distance. “Stop inviting people you don’t like for diner,” her Ladyship scoffed. “I’m sorry it just-“

Their voices died out. Jimmy looked positively stunned. Thomas took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry Jimmy. He’s mentally unstable. War has broken him.”

Jimmy turned to him, his mouth open in astonishment.

“That guy totally has the hots for you!”

He burst into laughter at the sight of Thomas rolling his eyes.

“Good God. Only you could ignore that.”

“I don’t think so, Jimmy.” Thomas shook his head. “Not that I haven’t been down that road. I thought it for a moment. But nothing came out of that.”

Jimmy snorted loudly.

“Trust me. I’m well used to the way he’s looking at me. I’ve seen it on the face of every man who saw me chatter with their girl.”

Thomas scoffed at Jimmy's cheek, then glanced at the house thoughtfully.

“Maybe… but I don’t think anything’s going to come out of it.”

Jimmy shrugged, and dug his elbow into Thomas’s ribs, making him wince.

“Please, do something about it. I’ve got a ticket with his wife.”

“You never!”

They stood there laughing for a while.

“Trust me,” Jimmy said, eying Thomas playfully. "Your Lord Westforth has plans for you that don’t involve holding a tray.”

Thomas shook his head. He punched Jimmy’s shoulder with strength, sending him staggering backwards. "You're hopeless,” he laughed.

He had missed him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing this. I hope you enjoyed it.  
> It's always nice to have a little bit of Jimmy.


	17. The Promotion.

Jimmy left before six o’clock. They promised to call on each other more regularly. Thomas lingered outside the house for a while, grateful for his friendship with the young man. Truth be told, he had hoped Jimmy would be looking for a job. Working with his best friend would have made his days brighter. And Cousin Jane would have had the pleasure of throwing herself at someone who might have humoured her.The thought of it made him laugh.

It was still his day off, but Thomas didn’t know what do to with his free time, so he went to the servants’s hall to wait for dinner. Tom might be there and they could play a game of cards. He went in, but the chauffeur wasn’t there. In the next room, Agathe was chopping and slicing and throwing food onto pans in a loud concerto of noises.

Thomas went to his office with a cup of tea. He opened a newspaper, but couldn’t focus on it. After a while he looked up, resigned, and through the open door saw the furtive silhouette of his Lordship prancing towards the servants hall. He got up frowning, and followed him.

Lord Westforth was exploring the hall, admiring the ceiling, lifting things and putting them back, opening the tea kettle and checking its content, browsing through an old pile of newspapers.

 _He’s out of his mind again_ , Thomas thought at first.

“Can I help you, my Lord?” He asked, still frowning.

His Lordship spun around. He painted an innocent smile on his face and brushed the palm of his hand against the hard wood of the dining table, checking his fingers for dust before rubbing them clean onto his pants. “No, thank you,” he said casually.

He noticed Thomas’s incredulous stare.

“I come here all the time. Spend some time with the people.” He picked up one of Agathe’s cinema revue. “Do some reading.”

Thomas crossed his arms, dubitative. “I’ve never seen you in here before.”

His Lordship scoffed. “That’s because I don’t want to spend time with _you_ , that is all.”

Thomas shrugged. “Fair enough. Would you like some tea, or something?”

“Nah, I thank you though.”

They remained silent for a moment. Lord Westforth then cleared his throat. “Your friend,” he began with a dry chuckle. “He seems rude.”

Thomas couldn’t help but smile. “No, he’s not. He’s a good man.”

His Lordship was scrutinising him in an inquisitive way. “I suppose he’s just a country man. Never learnt a lot about manners and all. He seems… wild.”

He threw his head back with the intent to appear unconcerned.

“Not everyone has had the luxury of your upbringing, my Lord,” said Thomas, frowning.

His Lordship waved his hands apologetically.

“No, of course not. It doesn’t matter.”

They stood awkwardly. Thomas started to laugh.

“I suppose you could say he’s a little wild though. Good old Jimmy.”

“Ha!” Lord Westforth tried to join in the laughter but merely choked on it.

Thomas’s own merriment quickly fainted. This conversation was weird. His Lordship was staring at him and there was a hunger in his eyes. There was want.

 _What is happening_? 

He changed the subject.

“Should I help you with dinner my Lord? Is that why you came down here?”

“No,” his Lordship smiled. The blue of his eyes sparkled, making Thomas clear his throat to hide his growing discomfort. “No no, it’s your day off. I was just strolling about.”

 Agathe burst in the servants hall. Her face reddened at the sight of his Lordship leaning casually against the table.

“My Lord!” She cried. “What a surprise! We never see you down here!”

Thomas enjoyed watching his Lordship screw his eyes shut with furious exasperation.

“Well, I’m going now. Lots to do.” He nodded curtly but not without shooting her a nasty glare.

Thomas allowed his eyes to linger on his back as he disappeared up the stairs.

“What’s his problem?” She asked, looking at Thomas.

“Who knows…” He shrugged and left the room. She scurried after him.

“Esther told me he lost it during tea this afternoon.”

“Really?” Thomas said without stopping.

“Yes. All was quiet and he looked like he was restless and her Ladyship said “Be quiet” but he was rocking back and forth in his chair, then he stood up and raising hands to the sky and he was like “Uuuugh!” and she said “Stop it” and he sat down but he banged his head against the table and she mocked him.” She took a deep breath. “You should have seen it.” She blinked madly at him.

He looked at her, rather puzzled, though unaware if whether the content of her speech, or the way she delivered it, was to be acknowledged the most.

“You didn’t see it though,” he sneered.

“Esther did. It’s just as well. Hey do you have a smoke?”

The bell rang. He waved her off. That was his Lordship’s bedroom.

“It’s still early. What does he want?” 

“It’s your day off,” she mumbled.

“Never mind that. I’ll go.” He handed her a smoke.

“Don’t miss dinner.” She eyed him disapprovingly.

He motioned her to go back to the kitchen and paused in front of the mirror before heading upstairs. He looked good in his own navy blue suit, but was in no way dressed appropriately to tend to his Lordship. He went up anyway.

 

Lord Westforth gestured him to come in, holding a drink. He poured one for Thomas, who accepted it politely but decided not to touch it.

“I have good news for you,” his Lordship began.

Thomas eyed him carefully. He was smiling and speaking quietly, but his hair was ruffled, implying he’d been passing his hand through it repeatedly.

 _I wish you were mine_ , Thomas thought flatly.

“I’ve decided to promote you,” he resumed, still smiling. His eyelid twitched.

Thomas’s frown turned into an expression of genuine surprise.

“What did you say, my Lord? Promoted?”

His Lordship bit his lip. “Yes. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. It’s time.”

“What is it that I’m going to do my Lord? The position?”

His Lordship put his hands in his pockets.

“Well… Butler.”

Thomas’s smile died on the spot.

“I’m already the butler, my Lord.”

His Lordship spun around, sighing, then focused back to him.

“Well, no, you see, you’re a butler AND a valet. Now you’ll just be a butler. Pay’s the same. It is a promotion, Thomas. Oh and I’ll call you Barrow. See? It comes with full benefits.”

Thomas stared at his feet.  _You’re casting me away. Though I love you. Or because I love you. Either way..._

“You don’t appreciate my services as a valet, my Lord?”

His Lordship went up to him, clasping his hands together in a dramatic manner.

“Thomas, it’s not like that.I’m very happy about your work. You’re promoted. It’s good news. I just require something different as a valet.”

Thomas looked up, wounded. Something different?  _No. Someone._

“What? Someone more experienced?”

His Lordship’s eyes lingered on Thomas’s hurt expression and he quickly looked away.

“I just want someone… else. That’s all.”

Thomas scoffed in disbelief, but raised his chin and composed himself.  _You prick. Wait. I’m not going to let you win this._

“Very well my Lord. I will choose him myself, if I may.”

His Lordship shuddered. “No you may not. I’ll choose him myself.” He took a step back from Thomas. “Now you may go and celebrate.”

Thomas slammed his untouched glass down on the table. “Thank you my Lord.”

He headed towards the door, but changed his mind and spun on his heel, walked back to him.

His Lordship remained still, his cheeks flushed. Thomas tried to understand what what happening in his head. He was obviously embarrassed and trapped in some kind of inner turmoil.

“I enjoyed taking care of you, my Lord,” he said, his voice hoarse, his disappointment palpable. “I’m sorry I wasn’t up to your standards.”

His Lordship briskly flung his head away, avoiding to look at him. “You were good. I’m just who I am.”

Thomas didn’t move. He looked at his hands instead.

_I’ll never touch you again. Never be so close to you that I can’t see the imperceptible tones of shades in your hair or the tiny scars on your temple, or feel your hot breath on my face as I fasten your necktie. I’ll never hear you hum dreamily as I brush your hair, never again watch you conceal a giggle as I straighten your waistcoat and my fingers accidentally tickle the small of your back._

Thomas let out a long sigh. “And I’m who I am,” he whispered.

Lord Westforth heard it and screw his eyes shut, his expression a quiet mix of shame and distress. “I feel terrible,” he finally said. “I didn’t know it would be such a big deal.” He sounded irritated now. Thomas glanced up, hoping for a change of mind. “You may dress me tonight if you want. One last time.”

Thomas slowly nodded, resigned. “One last time, my Lord.”

He remembered how he was dressed and chuckled nervously. “Should I put on my livery?”

His Lordship rolled his eyes. “No. For the love of God. Just get on with it.”

 Thomas took his time. After all it was the last one. No more rush of adrenaline running through him as he dressed and undressed   _th_ _is beautiful mess_. He was applying himself, his fingers working with a swift dexterity, while his Lordship was sighing and coughing and rolling his shoulders with impatience.

As he stood shivering, in his pants and undershirt, Thomas handed him his evening shirt. He covered his body with haste, groaning as he struggled, too impatient to get in. Thomas ignored it and proceeded to unbuckled his belt, making him bounce back like a startled animal.

“My Lord?”

“Don’t…” His Lordship was breathing fast, Thomas noticed his chest rise and fall with rapid movements. “Don’t do that,” he groaned. “You can go. I’ll just finish up myself.”

“As your Lordship wishes.” He grabbed the brush. “Should I comb you hair?”

His Lordship flashed him an annoyed look, but he was clearly hesitating. Thomas smiled at himself. His Lordship could never say no to a soft hair brushing.

“Very well,” he said, eyes brightening. “But I’ll remain standing.”

Thomas stood behind him and stroke his hair for a couple of minutes, then put the brush down with a sigh.

_That was it. Time to go._

He turned back to him with a contrite smile. “Will that be all, my Lord?”

His Lordship’s stared at him, his pupils black and dilated. Tenderness and wonder lit Thomas’s face despite himself.

Lord Westforth’s jaw clenched, he swallowed painfully. 

“Please, shut up," he said gruffly.

Thomas’s eyes widened in protest. “I didn’t say anyth-“

He felt his Lordship’s hands grab him and he was hurled with strength against the wall. The whole house seemed to shake in response. He winced, but his cry of pain was smothered by the Viscount’s mouth pressing with violence against his. He blinked hard, trying to catch his breath.

“My Lord,” he gasped. 

His groin responded before his brain. He glanced up. The ceiling was spinning. Lips. Lips down his neck. Wet and warm.

_His Lordship’s lips._

His body answered to the kiss with a sudden jolt of the hips. His useless hands reached for the Viscount’s hair and pulled mercilessly, causing him to groan into his neck in response.

“My Lord…” Thomas repeated.

“Adam,” he heard, name breathed hot into his ear. Thomas choked on a hungry whimper.

They pushed and tugged at each other, clutching clothes and skin with the desperation of drowning men, ignoring the rumble as Thomas’s back kept crashing against the wall. With one hand Adam gripped Thomas hair with inhumane force, while the other fumbled with his belt.

“I have to have you Thomas, I have to have you," he whispered in a thick voice. “Please let me have you, please let me have y-“ 

“Yes...Yes!”

Thomas shut his eyes.  _Yes. Anything you want. Take me and toss me and do anything you want. But please take me now._

He could barely stand the pressure in his pants. He let go of Adam to undo the buckle of his belt. Two firm hands grabbed him and swirled him around, untucking his shirt.

“Thomas…” Adam was imploring now. 

“Do it!"

He was shaking. Adam grabbed hold of his trousers and brutally shoved them down. Thomas gasped. He shivered wehn he felt Adam’s erection pressed against his back. No time to think. He was roughly hurled on the bed. There was a loud crack.

 

_Down in the music room, Esther brought her Ladyship a cocktail before dinner. She glanced up at the ceiling at the sound of what sounded like a wrestling game. The Viscountess took the drink, indifferent to the racket._

_“Your Ladyship?” Esther asked in a mousy voice, pointing at the ceiling._

_The Lady raised an eyebrow in an air of innocence._

_“They did have unfinished business,” she said, shrugging._

 

Face down on the bed, anticipating, Thomas heard shuffling as his Lordship swiftly removed his trousers. For a split second all was quiet but for the sound of their ragged breathing. Then he heard the spit, and Adam pushed inside him. Pain and excitation made him wince. He breathed fast.

Adam grabbed Thomas by the hair. Grunts came out of his throat as he thrusted himself roughly into him. His teeth sunk into his neck, muffling the sounds. The wooden frame of the bed whined painfully as a protest. Thomas clenched at the embroidered bedcover. His knuckles turned white. The friction was already too much to bear. Another broken groan from Adam and the warmth of his breath brushing his ear and he cried out, coming all over his stomach and the taffeta. Adam, panting, pulled his hair, bit his shoulder and climaxed a second later.

They remained like this, him on top stroking Thomas’s hair, Thomas stunned and undone under him, panting, for a few seconds. Then Adam started shaking. Thomas reached out to him, but he was already stumbling back on his feet, breathing erratically.

“I’m sorry Thomas. I’m sorry.”

Thomas rolled clumsily to his side. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m s-sorry. I'm sorry. S-sorry.” Adam was repeating, staring at his trembling hands as if they were covered in blood.

Thomas sprung to his feet, struggling with his underpants as he pulled them up,and seized Adam by the wrists.

“Everything’s fine, my Lord,” he said in a reassuring voice. “Everything’s fine. You’re safe.”

He tried to wrap his arms around him. Wrong move. Adam shook him off, repeating he was sorry.

“My Lord…” Thomas said, his brow furrowed in concern. “Please. Calm down. It’s okay.”

Adam looked around, as if unaware of his surroundings. Then he grabbed Thomas, digging his nails into his arms, eyes wide open and red and mad.

“I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have done this. I have to tell her.”

He shoved a stunned Thomas aside.

“Wait, wait! Don’t!”

But before he could do anything, Adam had pulled up his own trousers and rushed outside, with one last “I’m sorry.”

 

 


	18. Parenting.

Thomas waited and waited, but no one came down for breakfast. No one rang for him. He completed his tasks, rushed to his office and slid down his chair, holding his head in his hands and fighting the urge to weep.

After lunch, he went outside. The sun was shining bright and made his eyes squint in pain. He smoked one cigarette. Then another. It was now two o’clock.  _He wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t running away. He would explain and he would leave. If need be._ Behind him, something moved. He pivoted on his heel. Her Ladyship stood before him, eyes dark and small from lack of sleep. Thomas held his breath. 

 

“Thomas," she said. She seemed weary, and sad. He came up to her, brow furrowed, anxiety plain on his face.

She pointed at his cigarette and he offered her one. She filled her lungs with long drags of smoke, eager as if she hadn’t had one in years.

“What can I do, my Lady?"  _He would keep his sentences short and neutral and see how much she knew already._

She shrugged. “I’m exhausted.”

“What happened?” 

“He had a rough night.”

Thomas looked away. He wanted to know and he wanted to help but he didn’t want her to find out what happened if Adam hadn’t said anything last night.

“He told me you’re not his valet anymore," she resumed.

Thomas shook his head. “No, I’m not. He wants someone else.”

She chewed her lips, eyeing him with her inquisitive green eyes. “It’s probably best.”

Thomas nodded with a sigh. “Who’s to dress him until he finds a replacement?”

“He doesn’t want anyone for the moment. He’ll find a way to dress himself, don’t worry. It's 1927. Even our people manage.”

She threw her cigarette and took a few steps towards the house. She paused.

“Thomas, dearest?” she asked, as she turned to him.

“My Lady?”

“Leave him alone now.” 

She hadn't spoke harshly, but the expression in her eyes showed she meant it. 

 

 

*

 

 

Thomas didn’t see his Lordship for several days. No one asked him to do anything in particular for him. Esther had seen him since he had retreated to her Ladyship’s bedroom, but Thomas didn’t want to ask and insist and draw suspicion to him. He heard her tell Agathe that “M’lord has been sick but now he’s up and walking and gazing out of windows.” Thomas had rushed outside to take a look at her Ladyship’s windows but the curtains were drawn. 

 

Three days had passed when Thomas had the surprise to find him downstairs for breakfast. He was at the table, vulnerable looking, like a wounded bird, sitting there with his hands on his lap and the thoughtful expression of a man who’s had a night filled with nightmares.

Thomas came in and they looked at each other, Thomas suppressing the urge to leap forward - _and hold him close and ask if he was okay and if they could talk and if he could do anything to make his pain go away-_  and Adam staring blankly back, a worried and embarrassed look printed on his face.

 _The look of a man who’s had too much to drink and regretted the things he did last night_ , thought Thomas.

“My Lord…” He began, stepping forward.

Adam shifted uncomfortably on his chair and fixed his eyes on his plate. Her Ladyship came in. The bright smile on her face died when she noticed the two men and their awkward silence.

“I have news," she said as she sat down, unfolding her napkin and putting it carefully on her laps.

Adam looked up, smiling at her with a cosy tenderness. _Go ahead, slap me on the face_ , thought Thomas. She glanced back and bit her lip, blushing.

“I’m with child.” 

Thomas stared at her, unable to determine what kind of emotion he should feel. He heard Adam’s gasp of surprise with a distant ear, and slowly turned to him.

Her Ladyship chuckled, now radiant with happiness. 

“Yes, Adam, I am.”

Adam’s eyes were round and wide with surprise. He dropped his fork.

“Is it mine?” He asked. 

She cleared her throat. “ _Really_. Is it _yours?_ ”

He looked so puzzled. “I’m sorry. Of course it is. But is it?”

She sighed but she seemed more amused than irritated. 

“Adam for heaven’s sake! Whose else could it be. Thomas’s?”

They both glanced at Thomas who tried to make himself disappear into the wall. Their eyes met again and they burst out laughing.

At last, Adam drew a long breath, and rubbed his eyes with a pale fist.

“How do you know for sure?” He asked her.

“I went to the doctor last week. I’m in the twelfth week.”

“Why didn’t you say so last week?”

She sighed. “I wanted to wait for the right moment.”

“Why do you think now is the right moment?”

“Why do you always ask stupid questions?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think I can help it.” He grimaced. She recomposed her cheerful mask.

“Adam, be of good cheer. _We did it_.”

He bit his lip and clasped his hands before his face, eyes filled with tears.

“Yes, we did."

Her eyes started glittering as well. She nodded at him, her chin slightly trembling.

He walked up to her, kneeling by her and kissing her hands. She smiled and kissed his sandy hair.

“Let go now my dearest. We’ve done our duty. We can be happy now.”

He stood up and smiled at her, then turned to Thomas, who had observed their intimate scene with an unconcealed embarrassment. She also turned to him.

“Do you like children, Thomas?”

“Yes, my Lady," Thomas replied with a small voice. _Why the fuck not, while we're at it?_

Adam bowed his head. 

“Goody goody.” Her ladyship sniffed and grabbed the newspaper.

 

*

 

Adam was beside himself with excitement at the news of the baby, but that didn’t stop him from carefully avoiding Thomas. He was very careful never to end up in a room alone with him, and he never called for him.

As a result of it, he had to learn to dress himself and to deal with the dreaded cufflinks. Thomas caught him with unbuttoned cuffs under his light blue jacket.

_His Lordship’s way of dealing with problems: pretend they don’t exist._

 

They had decided to invite Lord Westforth’s parents to announce the news. The baby Herrington was big news and had been expected for many years. Thomas performed his duties and welcomed the couple when they arrived a couple of days later.  

Lady Westforth was a small woman of stern stature, with drawn features and grey protruding eyes that casted furtive looks in every direction. Thomas was surprised at her insignificance, especially as opposed to Adam’s father, a tall and handsome man with thick salt and pepper hair and inquisitive blue eyes that glimmered coldly as he stared around, a uncompromising look stuck on his face. 

They sat in the music room and Lady Westforth gave them the news. The small woman nodded approvingly and said something like “Very well, very well”, and Lord Westforth Senior shut his eyes in relief and said: “Is it yours?”

 

They stayed for lunch and talked of inheritance and titles and special remainders. Thomas’s mind wandered and he tried to imagine what it would have been like to be baby Adam and to live with these two people. They weren’t very disagreeable, not per say, but there was something chilly and austere about them and Thomas knew they couldn’t have been much fun. As they were finishing dessert, Adam’s father raised his head and nodded it approvingly at his son, who sat with his back straight and with a polite smile on his face.

“I was so worried,” he began. “I had almost given up hope. I thought you’d never make it.”

Adam scratched the back of his head. His wife quietly chewed on her pie, staring at his parents with sharp eyes.

“With our David dead, you are my heir and you have to represent and honour our family.”

“Father..." Adam shook his head.

“Let me finish!" His father snapped his tongue. “I was worried, I can tell you. You had always been so reckless, so foolish, making bad friends and bad decisions. Selfish. Unprincipled. Then you married _her_.”

He motioned at Emma with his chin. She shrugged in response. Thomas looked at Adam’s father in shock. 

“You thought yourself so clever, but in more than a decade, there was still no signs of a child," the old man said. 

“We tried.” Adam said in a small voice.

“Not hard enough, obviously." His wife nodded approvingly, staring at her pie with a posh contempt.

Adam looked away. He met Thomas’s stare for a split second and clenched his fingers around his fork. 

“I’ve been unwell.” There was a cold anger in his tone.

His father laughed humourlessly.  “Let’s talk about that. My only heir almost sent to an institution, drooling and running around in his small clothes because he couldn't handle a war? I think not. You have no idea of the humiliation and despair it has brought to our family. Now, your brother, he was strong. He was fit. But of course, God has other plans. Talk about the irony of things.”

He stared at Adam’s colourless face and waved his fork at him, his cold blue eyes shimmering.

“I’m sorry about your _friend_. I am. But how could it take you six years to get over his death when you barely mourned your brother’s. Preposterous.”

Adam stared back at him and sighed. 

“They call it shell-shock. It's not uncommon, and I certainly didn’t choose it. Perhaps it's related to the fact that I’ve seen things you couldn’t possibly understand. You don’t know what it was like. As I recall, you weren’t even there.”

His father flashed him an angry look. Emma cast the tiniest smile in her husband’s direction. 

“I have a heart condition," said Lord Westforth. “I couldn’t go. They wouldn’t send me.”

But Adam’s cheeks were a bit flushed now. He smirked with an expression of contempt. 

“Oh and yes, by the way, thank you for supporting Emma when she fought back as some fancy "professor" decided I was beyond help and that I should be held in one of those ghastly institutions. Thank you for dropping by all those years when the doctors drugged me so much I couldn’t remember my name. Thank you for coming in and helping her care for me and stop me from chocking on my own tongue when I woke up screaming, thinking the Germans were back. Thank you for not helping her replace the staff we kept losing one after the other because they were terrified of my fits and my moods.”

He took a deep breath to ease the trembling of his voice.

“I’m so glad and grateful to see you seat here and tell me how happy you are to find me so well. And how you appreciate my lovely wife. And how despite me being so reckless and foolish and unprincipled, you are still blessed with a grandchild and another heir.”

He stood up. His legs were shaking.

“Yet, I’ll always be the one that is _unprincipled_.” 

He threw his napkin on the table and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. His wife glanced at Thomas with a snort. Lord and Lady Westforth remained silent, glancing at each other with round eyes.

Lord Westforth eventually spoke. “Is he really better? That seemed to me the behaviour of a mad man.”

Emma shrugged. “Nah, that’s just him.” She paused and stared at him. Thomas observed the cool contempt in her eyes.

“You have what you wanted," she said. “He came back to the world and you didn’t even have to work for it. He came back and he can and _will_ be your heir, though he had never intended it and was never prepared for it. And now, on top of everything, he will have his own heir, whatever may comes. Don’t you think you can drop it now? Letting us live our life as we please? We have never done anything to bring scandal upon your name. Nor won't we. So give us a break and go back to Westforth Hall.”

He considered her a moment and scoffed softly.

“I’m sure you think you have figured it all out. What does _your_ father think about it?”

She tilted her head with a smile.

“I’m with child, Henry. Remember? I won.”

 Lord and Lady Westforth stood up, ready to leave. Thomas opened the door, motioning Esther outside to warn their driver.  In the hall, he helped his Lordship’s mother with her coat and his father with his jacket. Lord Westforth glanced at him as he handed him his hat.

“Who are you?” He asked haughtily. “I’ve never seen you before.”

"What a surprise," her Ladyship replied. “We have had quite a lot of staff. This is Mr Barrow.”

Lord Westforth eyed him up and down with a discontented grimace. 

“Is this one yours or his?” He sneered.

Thomas raised his eyebrows at him in surprise. Lord Westforth waved him off. “I can’t be bothered. Do as you please.”

 He stormed out, dragging his small wife behind him. Thomas turned to Emma, puzzled. She was clapping and laughing happily. 

“Don’t mind if I do!” she sang, swirling around. 

“My Lady,” Thomas called. 

She turned to him. 

“Am I … yours? Or His?” He was frowning.

She tilted her head thoughtfully.

“Oh you’re mine. Definitely.”


	19. Your spot.

When he had completed his usual tasks and made sure Lord and Lady Westforth _(his own)_ were well cared for in the music room, Thomas went to the garden for a bit of fresh air. He went further than usual and sat down a bench. He could make out the house in the distance, but he felt as lonely as ever. He untied his necktie and unbuttoned his tailcoat, feeling nauseated. _Even rich and noble people have problems with their fathers,_ he thought. 

 _His Lordship had been so angry at lunch. No wonder why. He had lived years in the darkness, and no one came to help. Except her Ladyship. Her Ladyship was brave and beautiful and kind._ He felt terrible for what he had done to her. Done to his Lordship. Though he didn’t mean it, he had been a source of turmoil. _His Lordship wants me. His Lordship likes me. But he’s a happily married man. He’s having a baby. I’m just causing trouble, here in the middle. I don’t know what do to. What did he told her about the other night? She knows something has happened but does she know how bad it is? Surely not. Why would she keep him around if she knew he had sex with her husband?_

He thought about the sex. _Quick and messy and rough. “I have to have you Thomas.”_ Thomas took his head in his hands and stifled a groan of pain. _I have to have you Adam_. He had a flash of him smiling, mischievous eyes sparkling blue as they were standing in his room before meeting the duke. _“Please. Shut up.”_ He saw his expression of content as he softly brushed his hair. Then he saw him bite his lip and repress a laughter, glancing at him with adoring eyes. But that memory wasn’t his. He stole it from her Ladyship. _Out of jealousy_.

 

“That’s my spot.”

Thomas jumped to his feet, startled. His Lordship came out of nowhere, staring at him sheepishly with his hands in his pockets. Thomas's blood rush up his cheeks. “My Lord! I-I’m sorry!” He cried out with such surprise that it made him laugh despite himself. A few feet from him, Adam chuckled quietly. 

“It’s alright,” he said, strolling toward him. He took a hand out of his pocket and pointed it at Thomas’s dishevelled appearance. “Someone ruffled your feathers,” he said, amused. Thomas immediately set out to fasten the buttons of his jacket. 

“Don’t worry about it," his Lordship said, waving dismissively.

Thomas took a step forward. “My Lord, I just wanted to say… I’m so sorry.” 

Adam glanced up, intrigued. Thomas shook his head, trying to pick to right words. 

“I never wanted for this to happen. I mean, yes, I wanted this to happen, but I didn’t want to be in a middle of… I didn’t want to stand in the way or anything. And now you’re having a baby. And I feel terrible. I never wanted to hurt you or her Ladyship.”

“What?” Adam drew closer, frowning. 

Thomas took a deep breath. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m just sorry, my Lord. About everything.”

 Adam looked at his saddened face with a softness that made him shiver. He looked away, but his Lordship took another step forward and reached for his hand.

Thomas, sniffing, glanced up in surprise. Adam wrapped both his hands around his and brushed the fabric of his glove, considering the scarred tissue underneath. 

“Show me yours, I’ll show you mine," he said absently. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” Adam sighed. 

He took a step back, still holding his hand, and locked his eyes on Thomas’s.

“Do you love me, Thomas?” He asked. As simply as that.

Thomas scoffed, confounded.

 _Why the fuck are we being so brutally honest now? What happened to "six seasons and a movie"?_   _Do I love you? Do I love him? Do I have to answer that? Should I?_

He took his time, allowing himself to disappear in Adam’s eyes before speaking the words he might regret.

“I think I do, my Lord. I really, really think I do.”  

Adam shook his head, taking a deep breath. He held out his hands and cupped Thomas’s jaw, drawing him closer. Their bodies met and Thomas felt very conscious about the volcano that just erupted in his groin. Adam lips brushed softly against his. He shut his eyes and moaned into his mouth, kissing back.  It was sweet, different from the intensity of their last embrace, and yet as enthralling. “My Lord, someone might see us.” Thomas broke out, his legs shaking.

Adam shrugged. “No one ever comes here. It’s my spot. No one can see me and I can see everyone.” He shook his head again, as if he’d said something wrong. 

“Thomas, I’m the one that should be sorry. I’ve kind of lost it the other night. I’m not sure what happened. It was quite desperate.” He stared at his feet, embarrassed.

“I was worried about you, you were so distraught.” 

Adam looked up at him, confused.

“Oh that?” He scoffed. “No, no, I was talking about the part where I pushed you on the bed and-" He made a face and an obscene gesture with his hand. 

“Oh, that!” Thomas’s eyes rounded in shock. "Nicely put."

Adam shrugged. “The things is… What I did to you… Well, _with_ you” - Thomas was frowning disapprovingly- “was out of control and out of … myself and I’m sorry. The part where I snapped and screamed and ran is more like me, truth be told.” He chuckled nervously. 

“But you’ve just kissed me.” Thomas stated flatly.

“Yes. You were sad. And you said you loved me. It was... cute.”

Thomas furrowed his brow. 

“So you go around kissing people that you don’t love, because you find it cute that they love you?”

Adam replied with another embarrassed shrug.

“Good God" -Thomas took a step back, outraged- “I don’t even want to know what that implies with the Duke-”

“The thing is, Thomas”, Adam said with a sigh, “I simply cannot love you back.”

Thomas winced at the blunt brutality of the words.

“I just don’t have it in me. I’m sorry.”

Thomas swirled around, eyes screwed shut in pain.

“I should have guessed,” he said, wounded. “You _do_ fuck like a happily married man.”

He hurried towards the house, leaving Adam behind.

 

Thomas immediately regretted pronouncing those words, and wanted to apologize. He knew he was growing impatient. His Lordship obviously had a lot on his plate, and probably a lot of difficult feelings to deal with. Thomas thus decided to do so as dinner was approaching. He headed towards the main staircase, but he ran into her Ladyship as she was flying down the stairs, looking desperate.

“My Lady?”

“Thomas! Adam is losing his mind, you have to grab him and stop him.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s the pictures. He wants pictures of his dead friend. I hid them because it made him ill before. Now he claims he wants them and he’s searching through my room like a madman.”

Thomas nodded anxiously.

“I’ll get him.”

He flew upstairs and found his Lordship kneeling in the middle of a clutter of mess on the floor, holding the picture of Edgar wearing his uniform. He turned to Thomas, his face and red and puffy with tears, looking very distressed indeed.

“Your Lordship?” Thomas stepped forward.

Adam was catching his breath, clutching the frame of the picture, shaking from head to toes.

“It’s the hole,” he mumbled. “I had to see the hole. I’m better now.”

He tried to get up on his feet. Thomas reached for his arm, but Adam slapped him off, whimpering as he looked up at him. 

“It’s the hole,” he repeated, tears glittering in his mad eyes. He pointed at Edgar’s face on the picture. “Where there should be a face there’s a hole.” He motioned at Thomas’s face who was staring at him with genuine concern. “See? Ri-right there.”

Thomas led him out and into his own bedroom. He sat him down on the bed where Adam immediately lied down and turned his back to Thomas. 

“You’ve taken my pictures,” he whispered angrily. “I just wanted to check for the hole.”

 

 

 

* 

 

 

 

Sitting down at breakfast on the following day, his Lordship looked as if nothing had happened, though he carefully avoided Thomas’s gaze when he handed him his letters. After browsing through the envelopes, he let out a cry of surprise. 

“Oh! The Duke has written.”

Thomas shot him a curious glare. Her Ladyship shrugged.

“What does he want now?”

Her husband quickly read the letter before rolling his eyes and crumpling it into a ball.

“He says he’s in town and he wants to come and visit me because he has something urgent to tell me.”

She raised an eye from the newspaper she was reading.

“And?”

He shrugged.

“And I don’t want to see him, so I won’t reply.”

“He might come anyway,” she said thoughtfully.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to assume.” 

He looked at Thomas who was eyeing him with concern and winced inexplicably.  

“By the way,” he began after a moment. 

She looked up.

“Didn’t I tell you?” He laughed humourlessly. “Thomas saved my ass.”

She scoffed at the sound of the word. Thomas startled in surprise.

“What do you mean?” She chuckled, eyeing the two men back and forth.

“Literally," Adam’s kept laughing. “He literally saved my ass from the Duke last time.”

She put down the newspaper, mouth open in surprise.

“Did you find him into your bed again?”

They started giggling. Thomas looked at them with an eyebrow raised in quiet protest.

“Yes I did. I was completely sedated and he thought I needed a human blanket or something.”

She laughed even louder.

“He should have gotten you drunk instead. Didn’t it work last time?”

Thomas swallowed a rock and the room started spinning. 

Adam shrugged. “Poor man. It happened once. Can’t he let go or something?” 

He glanced furtively at Thomas’s hurt expression, blushing.

She eyed them both carefully, a half-smile on her face. 

“Yes, I agree. People should know when to let go.”

 

Angry and jealous, Thomas cornered Adam as he was strolling out after breakfast. He pulled him by the arm and flung him around the corner, away from prying eyes.

“Hey. What the hell.”

His Lordship protested with his mouth, but his expression was unabashed.

“You slept with the Duke?” Thomas asked bluntly.

“How is that the butler’s business?” 

“You slept with _the Duke_?” Thomas insisted.

“I slept with a lot of people."

Thomas took a step back, scoffing. 

“How did _this_ happen?” 

Adam straightened his jacket and took his time to get and lit up a cigarette. 

“I was drunk," he shrugged. He pointed at Thomas, smirking. “What’s _your_ excuse?”

Thomas cleared his throat and drew closer.

“ _This_ is who I am. I… want men. I was young. I was lonely. He-He was beautiful, and a bloody duke. What do _you_ think?”

Adam pouted his lips. “Well it seems that we have one thing in common.”

“That bloody Duke. Is that really all we have in common?" He nervously passed a hand in his slick hair, messing them up. "And you, you really do just sleep with people and make nothing out of it.”

He shrugged.

“Maybe.”

Thomas got closer still.

“And you’re not attracted to me.”

Adam chuckled, pulling on his cigarette.

“I _am_ attracted to you. Obviously.”

“But you don’t love me.”

“Voilà.”  

Thomas tilted his head and boldly put his hand between Adam’s thighs, only to find him aroused. Adam casually looked down at this hand resting on his crotch. 

“I”m still your boss you know," he said with an unconcealed amusement.

“Why don’t you give me notice?” Thomas asked. “I mean, after all that happened. Why am I even still here. It’s ridiculous.”

Something flickered in Adam’s eyes, and Thomas felt more pressure under the fabric on his trousers.

“You’re a good butler,” he muttered. “Good employees are hard to find. My wife adores you. The silverware’s never looked better-I don’t know!”

Thomas sighed and let go of his Lordship’s crotch.

“I think you like me. But you’re afraid. I know, I get it. It must be pretty scary. I couldn’t say. Never been there. But I’m here for you. I am. And I’ll be here when you decide to change your mind.”

He leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I can take care of you," he whispered.

Adam shuddered, peered at Thomas’s eyes for a second, only to wince in pain again. 

“I can't do this." 

Thomas took a step back and his Lordship quickly slid against the wall and disappeared around the corner. 


	20. The beautiful people.

_It’s a beautiful day. I’m wandering through my gardens. I can feel him as he strolls behind me with watchful eyes. I know when he folds and unfolds his hands as he’s worried about me. I know he wants me. It turns me on. I’m coy and I stop abruptly so that he bumps into me, sending a wave of cheap cologne through the air and I breathe in deeply. He doesn’t know that I watch him. He doesn’t know I peered into his room this morning and put on his clothes. That I slicked my hair back to look like him but that it only made me look like an idiot._

  _It’s breakfast, lunch or dinner, and he does his job stiffly as he nods and serves and he has his back to me. I rest my chin on my hand, and bite my lip as I stare at him, and I blush as I remember that I’ve seen how he looks under the thick fabric of his livery. He plays the ice man but I know what breathes underneath. There’s hot lava bubbling at the heart of this mountain. I felt him crumble under my touch._ I want to break you. I want to drive you insane. _I won._

_It’s morning and I wake up early so I can catch him outside, smoking a cigarette, standing straight in all his might and glory. I want to touch him. Instead I touch myself. It doesn’t take long as he spent the night dominating my dreams and I wake up wanting. I spill hot lust onto my hand and I wipe it on my night robe. Now what._

_Thomas’s serving tea with a composed demeanour. I invent some nonsense and some excuse for him to linger so I can stare. Thomas has a sculpted face and an unsettling beauty. Eyes like two headlights in the dusky night. Hair as dark as the raven's feathers, my old fellow. He looks so austere. But I know. He blows cold. I blow hot. He blows hot. I blow cold. The ravages we’d made should we be an item. What am I saying. He notices my stare and I look away. He doesn’t have to know that he’s wrenched me inside out. Emma’s looking and I don’t want to hurt her, but what can she do that I didn’t choose to ignore. She doesn’t know what I know._

  _It’s raining today and I go outside only in my jacket, and I run through the gardens. I give it two minutes before Thomas rushes out, holding coat and umbrella. I lift my chin and enjoy the feeling of icy water as it drips down my face. Thomas mumbles nonsense about pneumonia. He grabs my arm to lead me back inside. He’s touching me. Fire. Fire. I know what I’m doing. I pretend I don’t see him or that I’m sedated. Hush. Don’t make a move. He wraps his hands around me to pull me and it makes my heart swell. I want to laugh and clinch back but I can’t ruin my cover. I play dumb. I play wild. After a while he rests his head against my back, panting and exhausted. I shut my eyes and enjoy the stay. I snap out of my simulated daze. We go home. I start sneezing. I hope it’s not pneumonia._

_I’m sick so they put me to bed, which I really like because I can think about Thomas. Free of all torment. Free of his desire for me. I flutter my eyes shut. I see Thomas’s face and he’s smiling at me. Cigarette’s smoke tracing a ladder. I feel my lips curl up despite me. My tongue creeps up the corner of my mouth as I try to imagine him an I engaged in some action. I don’t have much time. I hear the explosions in the back of my head, yet still faintly. They’ll be here soon. I reach out a hand to Thomas, but he doesn’t move. He keeps smiling and repeating “I really think I do.” He chuckles.  I hear bullets slicing the thin air and my men’s ragged breathing as they close in. Everything turns dark. Now it’s just him and I, floating through the ether. A screeching noise announces the end of my peaceful fantasy, followed by the muffled sound of the great Basilica. Thomas stops smiling as the explosion sucks him in. I stare as the shrapnel tears at his face and leaves nothing but a hole. I remain still but for the beating of my heart, loud and brutal behind my chest. This has happened before. I kneel down. Something on the floor is shining brightly. I pick it up. I realise what it is, and starts screaming._

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

It was a beautiful morning, Thomas thought as he woke up that day. Clear blue sky and birds already tweeting merrily. It was Friday, and it was a special day. Well, in theory. 

Lady Westforth had a tradition of taking the staff out on what they called “a night to remember” in London. Agathe and Esther were beside themselves with the idea. There was talk of a play, then a pub, then a club. That wasn’t their first time, and they knew what to expect. Thomas would have liked to go. But he decided he wouldn’t. Naturally.

Going with everyone else would mean spending the night sharing awkward stares and silences with his Lordship, therefore meaning none of them would have any fun at all. And Thomas agreed that his Lordship needed the time out more than he did. He had been sick in bed with a cold and a night out would do him good. He already thanked Lady Westforth for the invitation but had let her know that he wouldn’t join this time. She had been disappointed. He had said “Next year, next year”, but there might not be one. 

On this special day, many surprising things happened. The first one was to see Lord Westforth coming down for breakfast in an elegant dark grey suit, cufflinks carefully attached, a serious look on his face. Thomas gasped in surprise - _nothing else, of course_ \- as he saw him enter the dinning room, shrugging at the excited compliments her Ladyship threw at him. 

Thomas wondered what could have triggered Adam to discard his beloved blue suits, but somehow he hoped it was for the better. He served at breakfast, sighing at his Lordship’s constant silly requests that made him go back and forth the buffet, sweating in his livery as he tried to remain composed. Well, at least he was eating. And also… he was sober. Finally, he was in a nice mood. All those factors reunited were so rare that Thomas wouldn’t have wanted to spoil the mood.

He went for a smoke after breakfast, breathing in the fresh air and letting his thoughts wonder towards Adam. _Beautiful, irresistible, unattainable Adam_. _Proud husband. Soon proud to be father_. Thomas let out a sigh. He loved children. He really would have wanted one of his own. But he could have never lied to himself and tricked a poor lass into marrying him for the sake of it. At least he had that for him. And that wasn’t nothing. 

A cab came up the driveway in the direction of the house, tearing him from his reverie. He shuddered. _The bloody Duke. If it’s him and he gets out of the cab I swear to God I’ll punch him so hard he’ll reach the moon before the doorway_. He threw his cigarette and stepped forward, looking as hostile as he could master, but much to his surprise, or unless the Duke had some magic powers, the visitor was a short and slender woman, and not at all who he expected.

The woman came to him. She was in her late twenties and wore a blue coat that was yelling “working class”. She was pale with big brown eyes and a tight nervous smile. There was something in her expression that made him uneasy, because oddly familiar. She stopped before him.

"Good morning. Who are you?” She had an annoying french accent.

 _"I'm Mr Barrow, who the fuck are YOU?"_  He almost snapped, offended at her disgusting familiarity. 

He stretched his back straighter- if it was even humanly possible- and scowled at her.

“I’m Mr Barrow, the butler. May I inquire who you are and what you are looking for, Miss…?”

She eyed him up and down, unimpressed. 

“Mr Barrow. I’m Miss Lucotte. I’m here to see her Ladyship.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“I don’t need an appointment. Tell her I’m here, she’ll receive me.”

She said that coolly and unperturbed. Thomas squinted at her.

“Very well, but you stay here while I announce you.”

She shrugged and twisted her neck in the direction of the servants entrance. She seemed relieved not to see anyone.

Thomas came in and found her Ladyship in the music room. She startled when he told her that a Miss Lucotte was outside. She jumped to her feet, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. She seemed nervous, thrilled and excited at the same time. She trotted outside, while Thomas remained inside, observing at a distance. 

 Her Ladyship held out her hands and said something. She was smiling. The woman lowered her head and spoke in imperceptible words. Lady Westforth’s smile died in response. She took a step back. Thomas couldn’t make any of it. He clicked his tongue in frustration. 

“What is she doing here?” Adam had snuck up behind him and made him jump in surprise. He caught his breath.

“I don’t know, I can’t hear anything.”

"What is she saying?"

“I don’t know, I can’t hear anything.”

“Why is she not coming inside?”

"I don't know, I-can't-bloody-hear-anything!"

“Oh. I see.” 

He drew even closer, hiding behind Thomas’s increasingly sweaty shoulder, observing the scene with curiosity.  

Her Ladyship was shaking her head now, and waving her hands in front of the young woman’s face, who remained imperturbable. Thomas glanced at Adam over his shoulder.

“What do you make of it, my Lord? 

“Well, it’s very simple.”

He ignored Thomas’s offended stare and pointed at the visitor with his chin. 

“That’s Penelope, my wife's former Lady’s maid.

“Oh. The one her father had gotten rid of.”

“Yeah, the one. She had been her Lady's maid for many years.”

Thomas leaned against the wall, still looking over at his Lordship.

“Then yes, why isn’t she coming inside?”

Adam ignored him. His features had become very harsh and cold. He went through his pockets and glanced up at Thomas.

“That treacherous bitch…I’ll be right back.”

He came back a few seconds later and handed a hundred pounds note to Thomas.

“What’s going on?”

Outside, her Ladyship was shaking her head. The woman put a hand on her shoulder. Lady Westforth shrugged it off.

Adam took a deep breath.

“Give her this as you walk her back to her cab. And tell her from me that is she ever comes back, I will ruin her.”

“My Lord?” 

“Don’t fret. There are always vultures sniffing around great houses. I thought you'd be used to that by now.”

He slapped Thomas on the shoulder and withdrew to the music room, leaving him puzzled.

The girl was now turning back. Thomas raced outside, ignoring her Ladyship’s call to him, and stopped her as was about to get into the cab. Thomas did as he was asked, and she looked at him, confounded, for a few seconds. Then she grabbed the money, blushing.

“I’m glad to know he got better at last," she said through clenched teeth, before disappearing into the car. The cab took off in a pale cloud of smoke.

 Her Ladyship was standing outside the door, eyes big and sad but head raised high in the most dignified demeanour. 

“I wasn’t about to pay," she said. 

“His Lordship-"

“I know.”

He remained silent by her side as a gesture of solidarity. 

“Were you friends?”

“Yes, or... I thought so. Friends enough to never have to go through a scene like this one, that’s for sure.”

She smiled a half-smile.

“I’m sorry," he said soberly. 

She turned her gaze to him.

“It’s fine. People like us are well acquainted with disappointment.”

After drawing a long breath, she turned back into the house.

“It’s part of the deal," she said, "and we have to endure, as proudly as we can.”

 Thomas stood still as he pondered those words. He remembered himself doing the same thing, years ago. The secrets. The blackmail. The vain attempts to hurt someone to obtain advancement or satisfaction. Shame crept inside him, quickly followed by a rush of anger for that girl who had hurt his Lady. 

 He looked over his shoulder and noticed Adam standing a few meters behind him, wearing on his face the same expression of rage and disgust. Their eyes met. His Lordship frowned and swirled around.

 


	21. Open Season.

It was shortly before eight. Everyone was getting ready to get to London for the night. They were not expected back until early morning. Thomas put a quiet smile on his face to avoid showing disappointment at the thought that he would remain alone while they would have a night of fun. But his mind was set. For what he had gathered from Lady Westforth, who had quickly regained her countenance and cheerful manners, his Lordship used to be “a party animal”, hanging out with cursed poets and crazed painters, drinking and dancing until sunrise. That was, of course, before the war. And he hadn’t had a real night out since. 

They left in a cab, allowing Tom to join them as a guest and not as a designated driver. Thomas let out a sigh and went to his office to do some work. Two hours later, he was done. He went outside to smoke. All was quiet and the night was falling fast. He decided to go upstairs and try to finish a detective story her Ladyship had given him a while ago. All was dark but for the soft light of the hall.

He had barely locked the front door that he heard a car coming up the driveway. He waited behind the door, wondering if it wasn’t a mistake. But the car stopped, and a few seconds later, someone banged his fist against the door. 

Thomas waited. He didn’t want to get into trouble with lost strangers, or worse. _It could be burglars._ He quietly pricked up his ear, trying to make out what was happening outside.

“I can see the light," said a soft, familiar voice. 

_Is that..?_

Thomas fumbled with the lock and flung the door open. Yes it was. _The Bloody Duke_. He looked anguished. 

“What do you want?” Thomas asked reluctantly. He looked over the Duke’s shoulder. He seemed to have driven himself here, but he couldn’t be sure. 

The Duke clasped his hands. He was almost sobbing. _Pathetic_.

“I just want to talk to him, that’s all.”

Thomas remained still in the frame of the door. He was tempted to get out to punch him in the face, but he didn’t want the Duke to overcome him and get inside the house. He pondered a moment.

“But he’s not here.”

“I know he’s here. I saw him.”

Thomas scoffed.  “He’s not. And I told you to stay away from him. Now I have to punch you in the teeth, it’s rather awkward.”

“I told you that I saw him!” He was swaying on his feet, hands still clasped desperately in front of him.

“You’re a better guard dog than you are a butler, Thomas," an amused voice spoke from behind him. 

He looked over his shoulder. His Lordship was standing behind him in the bright light of the hall, his eyes wide with curiosity.  Thomas cursed in surprise, while the Duke made a triumphant sound. 

“I knew you were here! Adam-Adam, I just want to talk to you!”

Adam came closer, but remained hidden behind Thomas, who stared at him in disbelief. 

“How did you know that I was here?” His Lordship asked, frowning suspiciously. 

The Duke sighed, shaking his head resignedly. “I… waited for a while, down the road. I’m sorry.”

Thomas’s anger rose at the sound of that. “That’s enough," he said, and he went outside with the idea to grab the Duke and throw him back inside his car. He managed to grip the collar of his coat. The Duke ignored him, only pulling himself forward to reach Adam whose head was popping from behind the door.

“I only want a few words, Adam, for heaven’s sake!”

His Lordship shrugged. “You caught me at a bad time. I’m obviously still awake.”

Thomas pulled the Duke back towards his car with a surprising strength. He fought back. “Leave me alone, you fool, you can’t touch me!”

Thomas didn’t let go of his grasp, but had to admit that the Duke had a point. He could get into trouble for molesting him. He hesitated. The Duke pushed him away, sneering.

“So that’s what it’s going to be? You and _him_? That’s a joke.”

He burst into a joyless laughter, his finger pointed at Thomas. “You can’t possibly be serious!" He sounded as repelled as heartbroken.

“Don’t worry Thomas!” Adam cried from the safety of the house. “I’ll help you!”. 

 He slammed the door shut, leaving the two men outside, Thomas, dumbfounded, still holding the Duke’s collar, while the poor man was struggling to break free, showering him with insults. Thomas looked up at the sound of his Lordship’s bedroom window opening with a squeak. It was dark and he could barely make a blond head peering out of it.

“Don’t move Thomas," said The Viscount matter-of-factly.  

A loud bang prompted Thomas and The Duke to jump backwards, wincing in pain as they instinctively covered their ears.

“WHAT THE HELL!” Bellowed the Duke, raising his fist at the window. 

The Viscount discharged his gun a second time, sending pebbles flying inches from the Duke’s feet.

“Wait, I’m reloading,” they heard from upstairs.

Thomas flashed an bewildered look at the Duke, who stared back in similar fashion.

“I’m out of here." Thomas rushed to the front door and smashed it shut behind him, fidgeting with the lock as he heard another bang. He raised his head at the staircase, panting. 

“Adam, for heaven’s sake! I just want to apologise!” The Duke was pleading behind the door. Another gunshot made him squeal. “Stop this madness! Now!”

Thomas grimaced and flew up the stairs.

 Up in his room, his Lordship, squatting by the window, seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself. Thomas heard him cheer as he skillfully reloaded what seemed to be a Winchester hunting shotgun. 

“I have plenty of shells!" He was aiming at the Duke. "'Could do this all night.”

Thomas turned on the light. His Lordship’s grinned at him. “Do you want to give it a try? That’s your chance!”

“My Lord, someone is going to call the police.”

Adam shook his head. The Duke was wimpering some nonsense under the window. 

“No, I think my old bat of a neighbour is deaf. The others won’t mind.”

“You’re insane!” The Duke was screaming. “You’re bloody insane!”

Adam chuckled, taking a careful aim at the shouting man downstairs.  “I know. I even have the paper that says it.”

He took the shot with a triumphant cheer. Thomas leaned against the wall. He wasn’t really aiming at The Duke. _Well, it didn’t seem so._

_“_ “I wish you a happy life with the help!” The Duke bellowed, his voice trembling with anger.  “A greedy little footman who seduced me then tried to blackmail me! If that's what you want. Suit yourself!”

_Did he call me “the help”?_ Thomas furrowed his brow, but Adam paused, hesitating.

Thomas heard the sound of a door being slammed shut, followed by the familiar racket of a car engine. A few seconds later, the car disappeared down the driveway in a loud screeching sound. 

Adam let out a disappointed curse. He sat against the wall, still holding the shotgun.

“Wasn’t that exhilarating?”

Thomas stared at him for a moment and shook his head. He started laughing. “That was quite something, indeed.”

Adam put the gun on the floor and raised to his feet, straightening his jacket. He looked at Thomas, smiling contentedly. 

“Well…”

Thomas stared back, and discreetly wiped the sweat off his hands on the fabric of his trousers. Adam licked in lips and gestures at the door. “Do you want to get drunk?”

Thomas glanced up at the ceiling and let out a long sigh. “Sounds good.”

 

 


	22. The Conversation.

They went back downstairs, in the smoking room.

“Is there anything else?” Adam asked, looking a bit discomforted at the sight of the empty bar. They was only a bottle of old Port, and not enough of it to pour into two glasses.

“I know where the Bourbon is," Thomas replied with a smile. _Of course I do. Her Ladyship asked me to hide it._

 He fixed them a drink and they sat in the fluffy armchairs, staring absently at anything but each other. After a while, and a couple of whiskies, Thomas felt comfortable enough to make conversation.

“How did you…” He began, rubbing his palm against his trousers nervously. “I saw you leave with the others. The Duke obviously saw you coming back. What happened?”

Adam leaned back on his chair. He lit up a cigarette, Thomas imitated him.

“I realised I didn’t want to go with them before we reached the main road. The driver let me out. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I snuck upstairs and came down when the Duke showed up.”

Thomas stared at him with an unconcealed annoyance.

“I would have liked to go.”

“You should have.”

“I didn’t want to spend the night out with you.”

“And yet here we are.”

Adam sighed, staring at the ceiling and fumbling with his cigarette. Thomas shook his head. The Bourbon was strong. He didn’t want to be drunk. 

“Can we talk?” He asked after a minute. “I mean, really talk?”

His Lordship straightened up, biting his lip. 

“I guess so. No harm done. And actually... Let me start.” His stare lost of it's nonchalance and became inquisitive. “Is it true you slept with Philip and then tried to blackmail him?”

Thomas became absorbed with the tip of his shoes.

“It’s more complicated than that. And I wish I could say he’s lying. But he’s not. Only… It was fourteen years ago. I was different then. And I felt I was being badly treated. I regret it now. But it’s done.”

Adam kept staring at him, but Thomas couldn’t make out what he could possibly think about. His face was blank.

“Are you really happy to be having a baby?” He asked in a neutral tone, determined to change the subject.

He didn’t want Adam to notice his inner turmoil, or that the simple fact of having a casual conversation with him turned his body so tense that he was worried he would snap in two.

“I don’t know.” He didn’t sound sad or upset. “I mean, that’s what we were supposed to do. Get married and produce a baby. Now it’s done. Sort of. But I’m not really the perfect image of a father. I mean, look at me, I can barely handle myself.”

Thomas must have made a grimace, for his Lordship cast him an amused smile.

“We got married so young and we didn’t want to think about a child yet. Then the war. And then me. Incapable of doing anything but sleep. And now… It just happened, out of the blue. But I’m not worried. In a house like this, the child is going to have a nanny, I will see him -or her- one hour per day, two top, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Thomas fumbled with his glass, still focused on his feet. 

“You love her very much. Her Ladyship.”

Adam scoffed and stretched his legs. “Yes, she’s wonderful, haven’t you noticed?”

“She is…” Thomas took a deep breath. “Does she know?”

“Know what?”

“About you… I mean… About us.”

Adam smiled. There was something caring and sweet, and most definitely diverted in the way he was looking at him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” 

Thomas merely stared back in response, trying to remain composed as he anticipated the answer anxiously. _Be serious for once. What aren’t you ever serious? You’re foolish and I hate to love you._

“Yes. No. I told her we had an accident in my bedroom.” His Lordship said eventually.

“An accident?”

“You know.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “What did she make of it?”

Adam was chuckling now.

“What do you expect? She was fine!”

“She was fine? She wasn't upset?”

Adam furrowed his brow and leaned forward, suddenly concerned. He emptied his glass and grabbed the bottle to refill it. 

“Thomas, I don’t understand you.”

Thomas scoffed at the sound of that. “And I don’t understand _you_. Your wife is fine that you are cheating on her. With a man. With men, counting the Duke. Even though you’re having a baby. Even though you love each other so much.”

He was baffled, to say the least, but not as much as Adam, who pulled his armchair forward with a screeching sound. There was genuine amazement printed on his Lordship’s face.

“Thomas, my dear…” He paused, apparently trying to choose the right words. “I love my wife very much. She’s my best friend, really. But I’m not in love with her. Nor could I ever be. ”

He was squinting at Thomas, as if he was a simpleton who might not understand the simplicity of his words. Thomas stared stupidly at him and gulped down his Bourbon. 

“Does… does she know that you… cannot love her? Doesn’t she care?”

His Lordship now looked at him as if he had escaped from some mental institution.

“Thomas. Thomas! Open your eyes! Of course she doesn’t care. She’s not…,"

He paused and cleared his throat, now trying to refrain himself from laughing. “She… she plays for the other team.” 

Thomas remained on his seat, feeling suddenly very hot. _“People like us are well acquainted with disappointment.”_ It took him a minute to assemble the pieces.

_So she was..? And Penelope was her..? Good God._

He stared at his Lordship in disbelief. 

“And you… you?”

Adam smirked with a casual arrogance, throwing a shrug in the mix.

"I-I'm-I..." He waved his hands, mocking him. “I also play for the other team, Thomas.”

Thomas jumped to his feet, suddenly making sense of everything that happened since he moved here. _Oh well, almost everything._

“How the- how the hell did you get her pregnant?”

Adam burst into laughter at the sight of his distraught butler. 

“With my penis,” He laughed, pointing two fingers at his crotch.

Thomas cursed in disgust. “Don’t!” But it only made his Lordship laugh some more. Thomas went back to his seat, this time leaning forward, filled with interrogations. 

“How do you do it? I mean…”

Adam was still chuckling, looking at Thomas as if he was just born yesterday. _And I bloody am_ , Thomas thought bitterly. 

“I told you. She’s my best friend. She’s beautiful. I love her. I’m luckier than most of us Uranians out there have ever been. My marriage is strong.” 

He leaned back in his seat, smiling, staring inside at some distant memory. 

 “I’ll always remember the night I met her. We were nineteen, and foolish. Especially me. A party among the fairies. There was a lot of talking and dancing and drinking that night. The beautiful and the stupid and the famous, all swooning around _us_. And then she came in. The oldest story in the book. Men wanted her, women wanted to be her. _I_ wanted to be her. She had more confidence than I could ever muster. And she was kinder too. Better mannered. With a irrepressible need to help out, to nest and care for lost puppies. But still she would enter a room and make the whole world spin under her will.  And she would render women invisible. How they hated her. I have met a lot of silly women, Thomas. I had the face to attract them. But Emma, she just couldn’t care less. We hit it off instantly. We told each other our secrets, we talked and got to know each other for a couple of months and we decided to get married. It made a few people jealous, I can tell you that. ”

His smile faded, and he emptied his drink. “But in the end it just made a lot of sense. We will always have each other. And… we needed a child to keep our families off our backs. They know who we really are. They had their terms.” 

He smiled at Thomas. “We’re not very intimate. Not in _that_ sense, I mean. We went at it a couple of times before the war… With the little help of … some friends. Then… Not much happened.”

Thomas smiled back at him. “But you got better. And now she’s pregnant.” He paused. “So that’s why she didn’t give me notice when she found out about us…”

“Why would she? She’s the one who found you and she hates being wrong. And she thinks she owes you. You’re kind of the reason she’s pregnant.”

"Wai-what?" Thomas raised his head, frowning.

Adam started laughing again. He sighed and filled up his glass.

“I told you. You’re not as clever as you think you are.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Thomas looked around the room as if he had never seen it before. Everything felt different. Everything felt new. He could sense the quiet ease Adam was feeling right now, seated close to him. And he knew that Adam wasn’t sleeping around with men just to experience or to have fun. And her Ladyship wouldn’t stand in the way of their happiness. However, Thomas didn’t feel hopeful or even contented. Adam was here, in front of him, relaxed and handsome and almost his. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all his. And he couldn’t understand why.

“Are you ashamed of “what” you are?” He asked after a moment.

“No.” The answer was said firmly despite the softness of its tone. “I’m ashamed at what happens to people like us. The things others do to us, and the things we do to each other. Yes. You should have met Bosie. That pathetic fool.” He scoffed. “But even before I lost everything, I knew there wasn’t anything wrong with me. Now it’s different. They’re all too keen to put my… inclinations on the account of my mental instability. “

“So you’re not ashamed of being attracted to me,” Thomas said quietly.

“No. I’m not.”

“But you say you don’t love me. So it’s because of _him_.”

Adam quickly held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t. Talk about him. We’re having a good time. Let’s not spoil it.” 

They kept drinking in silence for a little while.

 _I have my answers, it seems_ , thought Thomas. _He’s still in love with someone else. A ghost. It’s Edgar Folley that stands in my way._


	23. Cry to Me.

“They won’t be back before dawn.” Adam said when midnight struck and they were sprawled out on their armchairs, unstrained and dizzy. 

Thomas jumped out of his seat, alarmed. _No. Let’s not retire to bed. We’re not tired. Stay a little longer_.

But the bottle was empty, and his Lordship was looking at the useless bar with a disappointed grimace on his face.

“I’m going up to my room," he grumbled, stretching. Thomas frozen, stared as Adam rose and walked up to the door. He hesitated as he put his hand on the knob.

“Do you want to come up?” 

Thomas noticed and worshiped how the pallor of his skin as it turned increasingly crimson as he stared at him, embarrassed. “I still have vodka upstairs.”

Thomas wanted to go, but he didn’t want Adam to think he was desperate. “I don’t know. I have to work tomorrow," he stated in a detached tone.

“Work? It can’t be. They’ll all be out of it when they return. We were supposed to go with them. Everyone’s off tomorrow. Come on.”

Thomas would have loved to come up with another excuse, but his legs had already took him outside the room without his consent. They went upstairs. Adam didn’t turn on the light but the moon shone brightly through the window, conferring the room an eerie atmosphere. Thomas sat on the chair while his Lordship sunk face first onto his bed. 

“Vodka’s in the secret drawer. Can’t move," he grunted. 

 Thomas went and retrieved the bottle. It was half empty. He looked around then stepped toward the door. “I’m going to fetch some glasses downstairs." 

“No, wait," Adam's muffled voice reached him from the bed. He straightened up. “We don’t need glasses, we can just …" He waved his hands dismissively. "...Like the peasants. It will be fun.” 

Thomas scoffed at the sound of that. Adam came up to him, worrying his lip. Thomas began to sway on his feet, uncomfortable under his gaze. He heard him laugh softly.

“ _What_.” His voice sounded harsh. He felt a bit ashamed to find himself so quickly offended.

“I think you’re beautiful. That’s all.”

He looked up. Adam had said that in an amused tone, but his eyes, though veiled and intoxicated, were serious. Thomas clenched his fists. He wasn’t really used to that kind of compliment. He swallowed painfully. “Alright then.” It came out somewhat sarcastic.

His Lordship slowly lifted a hand and ran it through Thomas’s hair, softly ruffling them up. He chuckled at the result, and brushed Thomas’s cheek with his pale fingers. They both got closer until their foreheads met like two magnets. 

They remained like that for a few seconds, enjoying the quiet and each other’s presence. Adam then flung his arms around Thomas to bring him closer.

Thomas nuzzled into his neck, breathing in the smell of his skin mixed with cologne and tobacco. He took a deep breath. 

“It’s so hard loving you," he said in a thick voice. 

He didn’t move. Neither did Adam.

“Why?”

“Because you’re never really there. And you’re never really mine.”

Adam took a step back and caressed Thomas’s cheek, his eyes dark and sad.

“I’m here now, if you want.”

Thomas had the feeling he knew what it meant.

_I could have that moment now and only that moment. Take it or leave it. There might not be a next one._

He already knew his answer.

They kissed. Soft lips sharing the lingering taste of a cigarette with a dash of bourbon. Their hands worked their way to find some skin, but they were in no hurry. Thomas took his time to undress him, layer after layer of clothing that he knew by heart, only pausing for another meeting of their lips. Adam followed, fidgeting at times with trembling fingers, but managing after all. They stood naked in the obliging midnight light. Thomas observed him carefully, brushing his fingers against his skin. Adam had locked his eyes on his and wasn’t moving. 

They smiled and rolled their eyes. Another kiss. Thomas slid his hands down Adam’s back, who softly bit his lip in response. He reached his buttocks and squeezed them until he obtained a moan in response. Adam reached out for him and stroke him gently. He was already aroused and he buried his head in his neck, breathing hard as he whispered “My Lord” almost unconsciously. Adam laughed in the dark. “Call me Adam, for heaven’s sake.” 

He felt pressure on his hips as he was led towards the bed. He let himself fall onto his back and met the softness of the linens. Adam sat astride him, his hand still working him with instinctive strokes. Thomas looked down to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, but Adam was there, holding him firmly as he covered his chest with scorching kisses. He felt a burning tongue whirl around his nipple and heard himself beg. He shut his eyes, his breathing uneven, and opened them in alarm when Adam let go of him, but it was only for a second. He felt something hot and wet around his cock and couldn’t repress a groan of pleasure. 

Adam took him in his mouth with care, swirling his tongue around his glans, sucking at him with an expert precision. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breathing. He felt a tongue pushing into the cleft of his anus and begged some more. A finger lingered on his entrance for a while, before pressing in. Another groan. 

Thomas's eyes fluttered open as he reached out for Adam. He took hold of his hair to motion him to come up to him. “I want to see your face." His voice came out strangled, almost desperate. Adam complied with a half-smile, his pale eyes looking worried, hidden behind a strand of blond hair. _He’s timid,_ Thomas realised with surprise. 

Adam hovered above him, contemplating him with revering eyes that Thomas had seen many time before, _b_ _ut never addressed to him_. He grabbed hold of one of Thomas hands and started kissing his knuckles. _No. Maybe not_. 

Thomas flung his arm around his neck to kiss him. Adam reached out for him again and unabashedly drowned his fingers in Thomas’s pre-cum, then raised them to his mouth. Thomas observed him with what he knew was silly adulation. He tried to pull Adam toward him but he escaped him, rolled on the side of the bed. _No!_ He thought with desperation, before realising he had said it out loud. 

Adam turned his back to him, his attention turned toward his night stand. Thomas brushed his fingers along his buttocks, along his back, along the scar on his shoulder. He kissed it. Adam rolled back to him without a word, holding a vaguely familiar small jar, and this time kneeled between his legs. Thomas got the chance to get hold of his neck and pulled him forward for a kiss. He couldn’t feel Adam’s hands on him any longer. But after a few seconds, the now coated finger pressed back against his entrance. He moaned into Adam’s mouth, and heard him chuckle softly. Another finger. Another groan. “God forgive me," he said this time. “I love you.” Fingers inside him stopped brushing his prostate. Thomas looked up in haste. Adam was staring at him. Soft and haunted eyes. He blinked slowly. 

“Thomas”. His voice was raw and thick. “You _are_ so beautiful, you don’t even know.” He smiled and bit his lip before pressing it against Thomas’s, who felt the blood flow to his cheeks and kissed back with more strength. _I am so beautiful. I don't even know._

Adam slowly pressed himself inside him. Thomas stifled a moan into his neck. Adam thrusted himself slowly, with care. Thomas grabbed his buttock with one hand and stroked himself with the other. There he felt they were close enough. They went at it, slowly and carefully for a while, kissing and locking their eyes together and shutting the rest of the world away. Their breathing accelerated as pleasure intensified, and they tightly clutched each other as they climaxed, crying out into each other’s necks. 

Thomas glanced up at the ceiling, contentedly spent. Adam took a while to recover, his body shaking as strangled little sounds escaped from his mouth. Thomas felt a creeping fear work its way inside him. 

 _Last time._ _Last time Adam ran away_. He looked down to check on him. Adam was rolling on the side of the bed, still breathing raggedly. _No no no no no_.  _Stay with me_. He quickly straightened up to look at his face. 

Adam wasn’t having a panic attack. Just a major orgasm. Thomas observed him anxiously as he regulated his breathing, his hand still squeezing his thigh. 

 _He looks so childish_ , Thomas thought, as the violence of the climax turned into a pleasant languor. _Does he always look so childish? Or is it how he looks when he’s undone? Is this the key to my obsession with him? I have a thing for spoiled brats. He’s the king of brats. Oh my god he’s looking at me. I love him._

 Adam turned his eyes to him, stared for a moment. The adoration was gone. There was only the child left. 

“I want a cigarette.” He quickly raised to his feet.

 _Gone_. 

 

 

 

 

 


	24. Gone.

_Gone_.

 Thomas stumbled back to his feet and picked up his clothing. _I better get out of here_. _Show’s over._

Adam came back as he was putting on his small clothes, pulling on a cigarette. 

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I figured you might need some air.”

“Don’t.”

He stubbed out the cigarette and grabbed Thomas by the hips. He kissed him on the cheek. 

“Please go back to bed.”

He led him by the hand back to the bed and they slipped under the covers, facing each other. 

“I’m just tired, I had too much to drink.”

“Are you ever sober?” Thomas scoffed. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He smiled back.

Thomas stroke his hair, chewing the inside of his lip thoughtfully.

“Can I ask you something?”  

Adam made a whining sound, like a grumpy child. Thomas cleared his throat. 

“How was it, with the Duke?”

Adam snorted in response.

“That’s your question? Why do you care?”

“I don’t know, I’m curious.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I might be.”

Adam rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

“Don’t be. It was sad.”

“Sad?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, that was just the saddest experience of my life. It was years ago. There was this party at his place. I was drunk. I mean really drunk. I was sad, moping around. He kept pestering me and I thought “What the hell”, and we did it, and I came all over his back and I left. It was just embarrassing.”

“That is rather sad," Thomas conceded after a moment. “But he doesn’t seem to resent you for it.”

“Poor Philip," Adam sighed, “he only wants what he can’t have.”

“He won’t have my pity.”

“God, you really dislike him.”

“Don’t you?”

“I’m annoyed at him sometimes, but I don’t know… Philip is not that bad. He’s rather sweet.”

Thomas made a hissing sound, clearly irritated. 

“You can’t be mad at every guy I slept with, Thomas. The list is unabashedly long.” 

“I can be mad at this one. Don’t forget that I know him.”

Adam smiled lazily, brushed his fingers along Thomas’s cheek. 

“How did you get shot?” He asked after a while. 

Thomas sighed, but consciously held his gaze.

“I held my lighter above the trench wall and I hoped for my hand not to be blown away. I’m a coward.”

Adam was staring at him thoughtfully. 

“I wish I had thought of that.”

It made Thomas smile despite himself. 

“ _Show me yours, I'll show you mine?_ "

Adam wrinkled his nose at that.

"How did you get shot, Adam?”

“Same. Though unconsciously.” He smiled. “I launched the attack from the front line. I sprung forward with the idea of being the first. I ran twenty yards before they got me. Fools missed my heart. I guess I too was trying to get out. Though through a different exit.”   

Thomas remained silent as he imagined the scene. 

“Has anything happened between you and _‘Jimmy’_?” Adam asked, tearing him out of his reverie.

He didn’t expect this trivial question and felt himself blush. He buried his head in the pillow. 

“I wish we wouldn’t talk about that.”

Adam shrugged but a flash of annoyance darkened his eyes.

“You’re a mysterious man, Thomas Barrow.” He withdrew his hand. 

“We all have our secrets. You’re the one who said it.”

Adam’s lips curled up in a unhappy smile. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes.

“Good night.”

Thomas got worried that he’d said something to upset Adam, but realised everything was fine as he watched him wriggle closer and rest his head on his chest. They wrapped their arms around each other and fell asleep.

 

Thomas awoke a few hours later. Adam was gesticulating on the bed, trying to catch his breath. He was having a nightmare. Thomas put a hand on him, and his eyes jerked open. He gasped for air, staring at the ceiling with mad eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he recovered his breathing. He slowly grew quieter but his body was still trembling. 

“Adam?” Thomas asked, gently squeezing his wrist. 

Adam whimpered and shook him off. He took several long breaths before taking a look at him. He only glanced for a second, the sight of his face making him cower. He started being agitated by violent tremors. Thomas grabbed him by the wrists to hold him still, leaning closer in an attempt to calm him down, which made Adam cry in terror. He tried to escape him, kicking and jerking with force, but when he threw his head back, he hit the bed frame with a loud thump. 

He fell quiet after that. 

Thomas caressed him gently as he held his head in his hands and rolled back to sleep, whimpering words he couldn’t understand. _He’s managed to crack his skull_ , _that sweet little fool,_   he observed. He got up, put on his clothes and left to get some bandages. 

He wasn’t put off by the scene. He had observed chronic nightmares at the hospital and at Downton during the war. Almost ten years had passed now and Adam was still plagued by those memories. He felt sad for him. No wonder why he was never sober. 

He thought of their previous intimacy, and how Adam had looked so childish and vulnerable afterwards.

  _He thinks I’m mysterious but what should I say about him. He makes a show of everything but what truly matters. If he doesn't want to tell me about Edgar, perhaps her Ladyship would._

He came back with medical paraphernalia. Adam was sound asleep. He tended to him and lied beside him. He held him close and fell back to sleep. 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Something was wrong. He knew it. He was certain he had known it before Adam himself. He had expected it as he had expected things to turn sour as they always did. But either way. There it was. 

Two nights before they had shared more intimacy than in all those weeks they had spent together. If something good or bad was supposed to happen, it would have been triggered after that night. And it happened. Adam was sitting as his table in the garden, looking sternly at Thomas who stood before him, ready to hear the sentence. 

“I have decided to remove you from my service,” he said, his cheeks flushed with something Thomas decided was embarrassment. 

“Why?” He asked after a moment.

“I cannot sleep with the staff. That couldn't possible work. That would be ridiculous.”

Thomas took a step forward and stopped short as the sight of Adam wincing and shaking his hand at him. 

“Her Ladyship kept Penelope at her side for years", he said, well aware that any of his pleading would be unsuccessful, but urged to try anyway.

“Yes. She did. And look what it brought her.” 

“I would never do that to you," Thomas murmured, hurt.

Adam emitted a long, weary sigh. 

“I cannot control myself around you, and I don’t want to be in this situation. I cannot have you in the house while I’m trying to recover. I’m going to be a father. I have to be realistic.”

Thomas came closer and kneeled by his side.

“You cannot control yourself because you want to be with me. It’s simple. And I want to be with you. It’s even simpler. I love you.”

 Adam looked at him with dreary eyes. 

“But that’s the thing, Thomas. I don’t want to be with you. And that makes things simpler.”

Thomas’s chin began to tremble. He tried to remain composed, but those words had tore through him like a bullet.

“But you want me," he said in a weak voice.

“Desire isn’t the same as love. You complicate my life more than anything else. And what did you expect?” Adam scoffed, throwing his head back. “That we would have lived happily ever after? I’m a Viscount. You’re my butler. We have nothing in common. We’re from different universes. I can’t simply use you as a play doll and discard you the next minute. It’s not even fair to you for the matter. I'm doing us both a favour.”

 _A play doll_. Thomas shut his eyes and swallowed painfully.

_Maybe he is made to be with the Duke after all. Same universes. Same irresistible manners. Same disregard for other people’s feelings. Same selfish obnoxious tyrants._

“I think what we had was beautiful.”

“Oh don’t be daft.” 

Adam stood up. His legs were shaking. “You’ll have a generous severance and…” He pulled two envelopes from his pocket. “I wrote you a very good reference. You’ll do well in London.”

Thomas raised to his feet and took the letters with trembling fingers. He nodded curtly.

“You’re right. I am daft if I thought it could have ended any other way.”

They glanced awkwardly at each other for an interminable second and Adam finally put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I really am. We didn’t ask for any of this. I sure didn’t.”

 _He looks so tired. And sympathetic. There is no cruelty in his actions._ _He really needs me out. Do I make him unwell?_

Thomas swallowed bitter tears and took a deep breath.

“Her Ladyship?”

His Lordship's eyes darted away. 

“She knows. She’s in bed, she has to rest, with the baby and all. She wishes you the best.” He paused. “She also wishes things had turned out differently. She’s very fond of you.”

Thomas looked up, confused. “What, do I have to live _now_?”

Adam gave him an awkward smile. “It’s for the best.” 

He drew closer and embraced him. “You are a good man, Thomas, and I wish you well.”

Thomas clenched back, taking a look breath. 

“I also wish you well, my Lord.”

Adam chuckled quietly into his neck.

“All will be well.” He patted him on the back. “Good bye.”

 

Adam took his seat again, and his look prompted Thomas to take his leave, which he did, with shaky legs and red swollen eyes. He looked back at his Lordship who had shut his eyes and was leaning back on his chair. 

 _Adam Herrington, Future fifth Viscount of Westforth. Thirty… Thirty-…_ Well, he didn’t get to learn his age after all. 

 _Blond sandy hair, blue pearls for eyes and a smirk for a smile. A scar on the shoulder. Chuckles a lot. Great shot. Alcoholic. Married by convenance. Likes to fumble with his cigarettes. Bit_ ~~ _es_ ~~ _his lip when he_ ~~ _looks_ ~~ _looked at me. Crushed my heart then my spirit then my body then my heart again. Loves a dead man._

 _My beautiful mess._ _I will remember you._  

He stumbled back to the house and dragged himself upstairs to gather his belongings. He bumped into Esther on his way to the main door.

“What are you doing, Mr Barrow?” She asked with surprise at the sight of his suitcase.

Thomas ignored her, too drenched in his own heartbreak to take notice of her.

 

He went outside by the front door, as a gentleman and not a servant. He enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his face. He took a last look at the house. 

_It could have been worse. All things considered. I knew it would have never worked out. I just wanted him so bad. I thought of nothing else. I wanted him and I had him for a night. He was mine. I felt it and it was real. Now I go, but as a free man. I have money and a reference. It could have been so much worse._

“Whatever happened to me here… Thank you.”

 

He took his leave and walked down the driveway. It took him a while to realise someone was calling after him. 

“Mr Barrow!”

He stopped to look around. It was Tom.

“What are you doing?” The young man asked, frowning.

“His Lordship gave me leave.”

Tom scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Mr Barrow. He really gave you a hard time. Why do you put up with him?”

Thomas stared stupidly at him.

“I’m just… Not as clever as I think I am.”

Tom’s confused expression turned into an obvious pity. 

“I will give you a ride, Mr Barrow. I know a place for you to stay.”

Thomas smirked. He straightened up and regained his composed demeanour. 

“Where is that, then? Where do they keep people like me?”

Tom didn’t answer. 

 

 

 

“THE END.”


	25. The end.

“Wait, what’s that?”

“The end.” 

“The end. What end.”

“I got rid of him. Like I always said I would.”

 

He smirks. _Cunning little liar. You sneaky little piece of s__. I smile and I oblige. “How did you manage it, darling?”

He coughs. Can’t help it. He is, and it figures, drunk out of his mind. Still unsure if he’s lying to me or to himself. I let him unravel with a distant ear.

 

“Well first I was hostile, but it did no good. You picked a man of particularly high spirits. He fought back. Valiantly. So I took the opposite approach.”

I smile and repress the urge to betray myself by tapping my fingers on the table top a little bit too impatiently. _No no no. You don't get to win._

“Really? And what was that?”

He leans forward. _Wait for it_. He’s going to try to sound cruel. He wants me to hate him as much as he hates himself. _Fool. Fool. Sweet little fool._  

“Fucked his brains out, then told him I didn’t love him.” 

He laughs. No humour in that. Grins at me. Pain obvious in his eyes. I can see it. He can’t see it.

“Neat.” I empty my cup of tea. “Now I’m out of a butler though.”

He groans. He’s so drunk he doesn’t even notice the tears in his eyes. 

“We’ll get a new one. Old. Unbent. It’s for the best.”

“The best.” I repeat. _The best._  

 I remain still and quiet for a while. His poorly raised self-defence is already starting to crumble. He’s shaking on his chair and sniffing too much for his own good. 

“He was mine," I say after a while. “I was very fond of him. You dismissed him without my knowledge or my consent.”

“You hired him without my knowledge or my consent," he slurs. “Am I not the _master_ of this house?” 

He sounds so bitter.

“You are. The Master of this house. _Jolly good show._ How does it feel, to be the _Master of this house_?”

“I feel great. Never felt better, actually. I’m back to who I was before.”

He glances at me with red angry eyes. He looks like he’s about to implode.

“Before what? Before Thomas?” I attack. He winces. Name is too fresh on his mind. It’s only been too days. 

Why on earth would he send away the man he was obviously so infatuated with?

“Before Thomas? Or before the war? Because let me tell you something. You weren’t like that before the war. You were happy. Foolish and vain, maybe, but happy. And now look at you. Back where you started. Wherever it was.”

I sound cold and I mean it. I’m not amused. I’m angry. I’m angry at him. Angry at myself. Angry at Edgar. At this moment I could pack up and move abroad and not look back. 

“You just hate being wrong." His voice is tormented by intermittent sobs. “You wanted me to treat him as if he was a birthday present. You wanted me to throw myself at him and forget everything ever happened. You got him as a _replacement_. How dared you!” He chokes on his spite. “Well, I don’t want him. And you can’t stand it.”

He doesn’t mean any of that, of course, but he’s desperately trying to convince himself, and who knows, I would have believed his method efficient if he wasn’t so inebriated. 

He calms down and his eyes soften when he speaks again.

“It’s just you and me now. Like old times. You and I against the world.” He manages a half-smile, something hopeful but also desperate. I know how much he wants this to be true.

“You and I… against the world.” I repeat.

Emotion rises in me. I stare at my plate, take a deep breath and hope my voice doesn’t quiver. 

“You’ve let me down, Adam.”

He glances up. _Touché_. He doesn’t like the idea of me being hurt. If only he knew how much he’s hurt me already.

“What do you mean?” He’s anxious, terrified at the thought that I would stop loving him. That I would abandon him. 

“I’ve done everything I could for you. At the cost of my life. And this is what I get in return.”

I wish I could help the tears from streaming down my cheeks, but it happens anyway.

“You want us to remain in this situation. _You and I against the world._ I feel TRAPPED. Locked inside the house with you and your demons. I gave you another option, and you cast him away. Your refusal to move on is chaining me down with you. I want my life BACK, Adam. I can’t do this anymore.”

Shock is printed on his face and it breaks my heart. I want to come up to him and hold him close, but I’m on a mission and I can't flinch. 

“Why did you send him away, Adam? Why?”

He shuts his eyes and I notice his tears as they ravage his pretty little face. 

“He makes me feel sick.” 

His body is agitated with sobs. It only makes me cry some more. He rubs his red eyes and tries to catch his breath.

“What were you thinking? That you’d replace Edgar with some random look-a-like and that I’d spend the rest of my life _fucking_ the butler? I can’t even look at his face. You don’t know what it’s like!”

Something is stuck in my throat. I think it’s my heart. I have to say something. Make him see.

“So you feel better now? Drinking your problems away? While I stand by and watch you waste your life away?”

He shrugs between two sobs, shakes his head. 

 “I deserve everything that’s happening to me now," he says.

I throw my head back and hear myself curse through my clenched teeth. 

“Well, I don’t. And you’re also throwing _my_ life away.”

He fluttered his eyes shut as I delivered the blow.

“If you ever loved me," I say, with added kindness, “You will reconsider. Look at yourself. You’re breaking my heart.”

He dries his tears and recomposes himself. He wants to be strong. I give him credit for that. I feel like there’s something I’m missing. And I’m not sure I understand what. If I could understand him then I could lead the way. 

“Why would you want to give me something that makes me sick?”

“You’re making yourself sick.”

“You know nothing!”

He’s angry. Not at me, no. At himself, I suppose. What does he think he could have done, that would have saved Edgar, back then? It was a done deal. War made many victims. Ed was a terrible one. I do get it. But why can’t he get through this? Why does he sees his face when he stares at Thomas’s? I mean I’m not stupid, I know there’s something about him that reminds me of Edgar, of course, but it’s really not that obvious, I would have never been so thick.

I decide not to say anything. He’s very drunk and probably hallucinating. I feel tired. The child... I’m supposed to rest. 

“I’ll be upstairs," I say, and my voice betrays my fatigue. 

He stares at me as if I woke him up from a dream. I have a bad feeling, stuck in the back of my throat. I’m worried. I’m actually afraid of what he might do. I have never thought he would attempt anything against his own life, but now I have doubts. He seems to have convinced himself of a path that will no doubt bring no happiness to either of us.

“I’ll be in the garden.” His voice is strained. He’s in a half daze. Who knows what he sees when he’s like that? I have half a mind to go on a rampage around the house and get rid of every drop of liquor. But this morning I’m tired. So I’m heading back to bed.

He gets up, looking as blank as if nothing happened, and stumbles outside, mumbling to himself. _I was so close_.

I ask Esther to keep an eye on him. Now what more can I do?

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

_Today I will break up with Thomas… Today I will break up with Thomas… Today I will break up with Thomas… Today I broke up with Thomas… Today I haven’t seen Thomas... Today I have seen Thomas, the one with the hole in his face._

  _He made me cry in terror, as he did the other night when I woke up from my recurrent nightmare. Holding my wrists and whispering to me, the gaping hole ready to swallow me whole._

_It happened gradually. Seeing Thomas with a hole. His sculpted face mutilated, a reminder of my cruelty, to forever follow me like a shadow. It happened as feelings grew. I suppose. I don’t deserve to be happy._

_All I want is the quiet mind._

_I remember what it felt like to be in love. It’s a warm and beautiful thing. It’s a simple thing, really. Of course I remember the fights, the dramatic scenes and the separations. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I also know what love isn’t supposed to feel like. It’s not cowering in fear at the sight of your loved one. It’s not trembling when night comes, terrorised at the idea of a systematic nightmare. I look at Thomas’s face and I see a hole. Who would want that?_

_I’ll live a pious life filled with gardens and books and music. No gaping holes. No hell mouth. Nothing like that._

_I’m drunk out of my mind. Off to a good start. The garden is calling for me. I sit at my table and start sobbing frenetically. “_ Forgive me," _I beg,_ “Forgive me please” _. I don’t even know why I beg anymore. Bad habit from bad times. Slowly but surely, shadows are forming around me, they draw closer and I clasp my hands in despair._ “Please, God, forgive me.” _I’m an atheist crying for help. I have seen Hell in this life and I’m afraid of another round. Pathetic._

“What can I do for you, my Lord?” _Thomas’s voice speaks from behind me. I know it’s not him. I sent Thomas away to ensure my sanity. Now I hallucinate him. Irony’s my closest friend, you see. If I look around my shoulder I’ll see i- yes it’s him. The gaping hole. Breathe. I hear the first tragic bang. My body trembles with such violence I’ll soon be thrown out of my chair. Blink. Breathe. So, I am to lose my mind after all. So much for peace and quiet. Breathe. What’s that poem again? If I recite the poem I’ll be sane. I’ll be sane. I’ll be sane._

 

Martial, the things that do attain

  The happy life be these, I find:— 

The richesse left, not got with pain;

 The fruitful ground, the quiet mind; 

 

The equal friend; no grudge, no strife;

 No charge of rule, nor governance;

Without disease, the healthful life; 

  The household of continuance; 

 

The mean diet, no delicate fare; 

  True wisdom join'd with simpleness;

The night dischargèd of all care, 

  Where wine the wit may not oppress. 

 

 The faithful wife, without debate; 

  Such sleeps as may beguile the night:

Contented with thine own estate  

  Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.

 

 

_“Adam.”_

_Edgar’s voice coming from the dead, whispering in my ear to lure me. I choke on an irresistible need to laugh. Yes, please, all of you, come along, come and get me, my very own demons. As if swept away by a wave of smoke and earth, the table shifts and sways and we are all swallowed by the trenches. There comes the black parade. This time I can’t stop laughing. I laugh louder than the explosions, louder than the blasts of the guns. This world is mad. Finally, the familiar sounds of my dead comrades, calling as they clasp their cold dead hands on me. “_ I’m back home,” _I say. “_ Please come and get me.”

“Adam!”

 _Still laughing, I open my eyes and smile at the sight of my father’s face, wrinkled and concerned and always so dignified._ “Father?" _I murmur, taken aback._ “You’re not supposed to be here. Your heart won’t stand it. They came back to get me, but if you stay they’ll take you too!” _The father I hallucinate is kinder than mine and cups my jaw in his hands and whispers softly. It brings tears in my eyes. I look again. Is he real?_ “…Daddy?” _I hear myself whimper._

_Thomas, dressed as a butler and with a hole for a face, stands behind my father and holds a gun in his hand. He aims it at himself. I moan, I beg, I surrender._

_I start retching uncontrollably._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Adam recites to keep sane is the wonderful piece "The Means to Attain Happy Life", by Henry Howard.


	26. The black parade.

Esther shakes me awake. I climb out of my sleepy stupor. “What’s wrong?” My voice is thick. Esther looks positively dishevelled. 

“My Lady, it’s his Lordship!”

The mention of the name is like a slap on my face. _I knew it I knew it I knew it_. I’m awake.

“What happened?” I raise to my feet. 

“His Lordship’s father, he has come to visit him!”

I sigh in relief. Esther is a crazed state.  _What’s wrong with people, seriously._

“Yes, alright, good for him. I’ll come down in a moment.”

“No Madam, you don’t understand. He has come while you were asleep, and went to his Lordship in the garden. But his Lordship was not well, not well indeed, crying and talking to himself like he used to.”

The information sinks in. _Holy mother of___

“And his Lordship’s father got angry, he said “It is not a proper way” and his son is sick and he wants to care for him-“

“And, what?” I’m really nervous now. She’s taking too long.

“His Lordship’s father has come back with doctors and he says he will take him away!”

I gasp for air. _Not again._ _No no no. Not now. I am so bloody close._

“Come!” I say, and I head downstairs, trying not to run.

 

Henry meets me in the hall. He looks angry. I decide not to put him out, and act in all humility. He shakes his head at me. 

“I felt bad about our last meeting. I came here to check on him. And this? This is what is going on in this house?”

All I can do is reassure him that the situation isn’t what it seems to be.

“What are you talking about, Henry? Adam is just a little tired lately. He went to the garden to get some rest. I don’t know what you think you’ve seen, but-”

“Enough, little girl, enough!” His face is red with anger and I stop short, frightened. “He is _not_ fine!” He takes a deep breath and wipes his brow with his silk handkerchief. He grows quieter. 

“He is not fine... Now, I’ve brought two doctors with me, and I’m taking him to St Andrew’s.”

“No," I say in a rather squeaky voice. “No, you can’t. I’m taking care of him.” 

“You did what you could, Emma. Now it’s my turn.”

“But-”

“He’s my son!” He spits, but I can see anguish printed on his face. 

 _Hell of a time to grow a conscienc_ e, I think rather angrily. 

“He is my son.”

I clench my fists, ready to bare teeth. 

“I won’t let you do this, I won’t!”

He stares at me like I'm an insignificant child. “I don’t care for your opinion. He’s my son.”

“He’s my husband!”

He scoffs. “Your _husband_. Amen to that.”

He pushes me aside to head toward the gardens. I stand in his way, grab his arm and pull it back, to no avail.

“Stay out of this, Emma. It’s done.” His voice is cold but his expression isn't unsympathetic. I don’t understand this man. Neither can he understand me. We are utterly alien to each other. 

“But-“

He effortlessly pushes me into the music room, leads me to a chair on which he forces me down, and before I know it, he grabs the key that rested on the lock of the door and locks me inside. 

“I’m awfully sorry about this. It’s just for a minute," he says through the door. 

_No you don’t._

I rush to the door and bang it with my fists, calling for Esther or Agathe to get the key and let me out. I hear Esther’s mousy voice. “Agathe is fetching the key my Lady.” I try not to panic.

“Get Tom and meet me under the window.”

I can't repress a curse. "Where is Thomas when I need him? Oh, wait. Bloody Adam. Good job."

I fly the window open and notice two sturdy men trying to get ahold of my hysteric husband. I utter a sound of despair. My father-in-law is walking toward them at a fast pace, holding his hands forward and trying to reassure my Adam. He takes him by the arms and brings him close. Adam rests his head on his shoulder. He’s weeping, assuredly. The doctors grab him with their filthy paws.

Tom and Esther call for me below the window. It’s not that high at all, but I hesitate. I look ahead. Adam is struggling with the doctors. I motion Tom and Esther to catch me as I escalate the window railing, struggling in the least appropriate clothing. I let myself slide down and Tom catches me with steady hands. 

We trot ahead. The doctors are stronger than Adam and one of them is holding a huge syringe. “I don’t want this stuff anymore, I don't need it, I promise!" He tries to shake them off.They tighten their grasp. “No-no-no please!” He’s imploring. They literally stab him with the bloody thing and he sinks onto the grass. He glances at me for a second before the light in his eyes extinguishes, his essence buried under the thick blanket of a powerful sedative. 

Tom and Esther are looking at each other in dismay. My father-in-law stares down at his only son, helpless on the ground. Adam tries to get up for a few embarrassing seconds before becoming very still. I look up at the doctors with mad eyes.

“What have you given him? He has been drinking. Couldn’t that be lethal?” I’m almost screaming.

They look at each other uncomfortably. The biggest one of the two eventually steps forward.

“He’s going to be out for a while. But I’m sure he’ll be fine.” 

They don’t sound convinced, and neither is Esther who raises a hand to her mouth. Adam’s eyes have rolled up in their sockets and there are tears sparkling at the corner of his eyes. He coughs and sends them tumbling down his cheeks. 

“T….” He's trying to say something.

“What?” His father asks. 

The doctors grab him by the elbows and lift him up. One of them leans in and turns to Lord Westforth.

“He’s saying: Thomas.”

“Who’s that?” His Lordships frowns.

Tom clears his throat. “That’s the… hem… the butler. He’s away for the moment.”

Lord Westforth shrugs the information off and waves the doctors to carry Adam away. 

_St Andrew’s. Over my dead fucking body._

“Let go of him. He’s MY husband.”

“And he’s my son. I only want to make him better.”

I clutch his arm with all my strength. “I won’t let you do that. If he gets in, he will never get out. You must know that!" I implore now. "I’m so close to save him. I just need a little more time!”

He pushes me away and I stumble backwards. Tom and Esther aren’t far and they catch me. His eyes widen and he blushes with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Please, just stay out of the way.”

They’re taking him away. They’re _taking_ _him_ _away_. Stop him, woman. Think. I plant my feet in the ground and shout at him.

“If you don’t let go of him right now I swear to God I will tell the press about your mistress.”

Everybody freezes and Lord Westforth slowly turns around.

“Thomas?” I hear my sweet idiot slur weakly, as the doctors spin him around.

The confused men look at each other, grimacing. Lord Westforth stares coolly at me.

“How would you… How do you even?”

I scowl at him.

“How can you even think for a second that I go through life unprepared," I say through clenched teeth. I manage to smirk. "Some of us don't have the choice in this life."

I take a step closer.

“There, you will have it, your scandal. 'Pansy heir thrown against his will in mental institution, cast away by _unprincipled_ father'.”

He hesitates, turns his attention to his son, then back to me.

“I… He’s my son.”

“I know who he is," I soften now. “I know him better than he knows himself.”

He shoulders dropped as he admits his defeat. _So utterly pathetic_. He waves the doctors to let go of Adam. They let him slid on the grass, looking dumbfounded. He sinks down without a word.

“I’ve got this.” I say. I feel so tired now. 

His father shoots me one last look, a mixture of anger, embarrassment and fear, and disappears from my sight, followed by the two men. 

I slouch down by Adam’s side, stroke his hair and allow myself to weep for a minute, well aware that Tom and Esther are staring uncomfortably at each other. “Is this what you wanted?” I whisper to him between tears. He doesn't see me, wherever he is.

I motion Tom and Esther to help me carry him upstairs. Adam stares at Tom with loving eyes. “Thomas,” he says, and he reaches out to brush his cheek. Tom chuckles. “I wish!”

“Do you?” I scoff. Esther can’t repress a laugh. I have to smile despite myself.

Tom shrugs. “Good point.”

 

We put him to bed and I kiss his forehead fondly. I stay with him for an hour while he mumbles things that I can’t make out. I complain that I feel tired and unwell. 

 

Esther helps me back to my room, where by midnight I lose the baby.


	27. Far from any road.

*

 

In the hushing dusk, under a swollen silver moon,

I came walking with the wind to watch the cactus bloom.

And strange hands halted me; the looming shadows danced.

I fell down to the thorny brush and felt a trembling hand.*

  

*

 

 

_I sat for a while, in the darkness of my chamber. So lost that I couldn’t remember how things got that bad. I felt guilt at the thought of my child. And the thought of my wife. And the thought of Thomas. I think I may have sat here, staring inward heedlessly, for what felt like a couple of days. Not really thinking, not really living. And it struck me that I had made a terrible mistake._

_Would this be the rest of my life? Sitting in a daze, drugs forced on me or drunk out of my mind. Hiding in a room or in the garden, drooling and dreaming of days long past? I almost ended up at St Andrew’s, where they would have locked me up and thrown away the key. Was that what I had in mind, when I brushed everyone off? I don’t know what happened that day. I held out my hands and stared at them and again they were covered in blood. I pondered on my actions and all that came back was that I fucked everything up._

_I would never be normal. I had to come to terms with this. I would never be young Adam again. War and Edgar had changed me. I couldn’t stand myself, I couldn’t stand what I did to those I cared for. On the third day I put on my officer uniform and held my gun to my chin, for what seemed to be an insufferable amount of time. I thought of many things and many days and I didn’t pull the trigger. I had never wanted to die. I had wanted to live and to suffer for what I did to him._

_I begged Edgar to give me a break. To forgive me once more. I felt his presence and I knew it meant me no harm. I wish I could remember how he looked like then. When he was handsome and mine. I thought he would never let me go. That he would haunt my dreams and my thoughts for the rest of my life. And he might still do. But I don’t want my life to be like this anymore. I have to care for Emma. I have to care for myself. And… Please, Edgar, let me go. I’ve had enough of your vengeance._

_I spoke to Emma on the fourth day. She was brave and denied my guilt in her miscarriage. She said ‘it happens all the time’ and she sounded convinced of it. Her father visited and he hugged her close. It made her weep a little. My father visited as well, and he begged her forgiveness, and then he sat by me on the bed. I couldn’t look at him and gazed out of the window. He didn’t speak. But he touched my hand. He too felt a guilt that he couldn’t repress. Though I knew him well enough to know it wouldn’t last long._

_All was quiet in the realm, but for the irrepressible need for someone to spark life back into me._

_On the fifth day I was somewhat free of the drugs and my head was pounding. I grabbed the small picture of Edgar and hid it my pocket. How I loved you Edgar. How I wish you had known that. You were my whole life and all that’s left is that small frame, along with tainted memories. I thought of Thomas and my chest tightened._

_I wonder what he would think of me..._

 

_On the sixth day, Emma is down for breakfast. She looks dashing but I guess she’s a bit sad. Why wouldn’t she be? I cast away the servant she came to think of as a friend, and she lost the only companion I was capable to offer her. And now she’s stuck with me. Again, it strikes me now how miserable she must have been because of me. She’s a rock and she could survive anything. I’m just a mop with a title and a pretty face. She is the irremissible force that keeps the cosmos altogether._

_God I’m a fool._  

_I'm dressed in black. I don’t know why. Well I know why. I’m just not telling you. We eat in silence. Esther is waiting on us. Someone is missing. I’m not upset. I’m bored. I have ensured my unhappiness, and hers. I want to fix it. It’s time._

_“I wonder where Thomas is," I say after a while._

_Emma puts her cup down with a little smile, but it has the same effect on me as if she had burst out screaming and while popping open Champagne bottles._

_“You wonder where Thomas is... Why?”_

_I shrug. I can’t just say “I was wrong I want him back I’m the worst blah blah blah”. Because I’m spoiled and I’m proud and I don’t like being wrong. This is what my people are, and what my people do. Add being unusually handsome on top of that and you have it: I’m a little shit._

_“I just want to know how he’s doing, that’s all.”_

_She raises a mocking eyebrow at Esther who purses her lips and nods sternly._

_“Where is he?” I clear my throat, feigning to be absorbed by the newspaper. I’m so anxious for the answer that I can’t remember how to bloody read._

_“I don’t know. I will remind you that you dismissed him without my knowledge.”_

_She shrugs haughtily. That’s fair._

_I feel a rush of uneasiness at the thought that Thomas has disappeared, evaporated into London's heartless fog, and that I’ll never have a chance to say my piece._

_“Surely someone saw him. Surely, someone knows something.”_

_“Well, good luck then. Let me know when you find him. I’d love to know how he’s doing.”_

_She stands up, tells me she’s going to rest upstairs._

 

_What, that’s it? Why won’t she help me? I’m not used to being on my own. It strikes me how spoiled and insufferable I am. I wince and hold my head in my hands. Where could Thomas be? I don’t know him that well. The thought is embarrassing. Even if I find him, what would happen next? Will I hide him in the attic while he scurries after me and calls me “My Lord?” Will I parade him around my world where my people will jeer at him, will I grow bored? What if we truly have nothing in common? Why do I even love him? All this is annoying me. I’m moody again. I’m a hopeless idiot._

_I don’t have time to worry about that. Who cares why I love him? Who wouldn’t. Have you seen the man? I would do anything right now to see him, I would go down on my knees and beg him to forgive me. I realise I could spend the rest of my life clinging to his neck and not think twice about it. I wonder if he loves me that way. If he loves me still. If it was the same between him and that savage Jim-_

_-my._

_Wait._

_I slowly realise that Thomas’s only friends are at the Abbey. When I investigated him, the old bat told me he was friendly with a Lady’s maid there. It would make sense. Emma took him from the Abbey, where he appeared to be popular, even after all the nasty things he did there. Was any of that stuff even true? It doesn't matter anyway._

_Then Thomas is back at Downton._

 

_I will steal the car and rescue him from a ghastly life in service. It sounds rather romantic. He would like that, wouldn’t he?_

 

_I jump to my feet._

 

Here I come, Thomas.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * The Handsome Family; "Far from any road".


	28. Looking.

 

Adam rushed outside in one of his frets of madness, with only one thought in mind: getting Thomas back. He went to the garage with the idea of stealing the car, but he couldn’t find any key. “Why is there always something wrong with this world!” He brandished his cane toward the sky. 

“Are you trying to steal your own car?” Tom asked, a few feet away.

Adam swirled around and slammed into the door. He winced in pain. 

You have to understand that his system was free of drugs and alcohol, and that at his level being sober was the equivalent of having a nasty hangover. He squinted his eyes at Tom, as if he was meeting him for the first time.

“Who are you?” He asked. 

Tom shrugged. “Tom. Have been your driver for two years. We met about fifty times.”

Adam tilted his head, observing the young man closely.  _Cute_ , he thought. He offered him his most enigmatic smile. The young man turned scarlet. _Just too easy._

“Tom, Tom, of course! Tom, I need to go to Yorkshire, now. Give me the keys, dear boy.”

Tom's cheeks were still flushed. 

“I can’t do that my Lord. Her Ladyship said you’re too mad to drive.”

Adam scoffed angrily. “Her Ladyship said…? This is preposterous. And she never said that. Thomas said that. That arrogant foolish man.”

He started swaying on his feet, moaning and imploring the sky with big mad eyes.

“But I’m on a mission of love!”

Tom shook his head with a sigh. 

“ _Right_. I’m going to drive you, Sir.” 

Adam stopped short. “That would be purely absolutely maddeningly fantastic!” 

“That’s my job, Sir."

Tom gestured at him to get into the car. Adam obliged, avoiding his stare.

They flew to Downton at what Tom felt was 70 miles per hour - but was really about 40 -, while Adam was crying that the car was too slow. and the whole universe against them. Hours later, shortly after his Lordship realised it would have been incredibly faster to travel by train [ _insert awkward moment here_ ], Tom was _that_ close to stop the car and abandon him on the side of the road. His impatience was nerve-wracking. But they were drawing close, and Adam was growing anxious.

“How do I look?” He asked, staring at Tom with a nervous anticipation.

“You look great," the young man sighed. 

“Do I look handsome?”

“You are the most handsome, my Lord.”

Pleased by Tom's answer, he couldn't help an avid smile to break upon his face. Tom flashed him a disapproving glare. “But you’re… kind of an arse.”

Adam’s eyes widened in shock and he wriggled on his seat, offended.  Tom smiled awkwardly at him.

“I’m so sorry my Lord. It just came out.”

His Lordship waved his cane in front of the driver’s face. 

“Did my wife hire you for your honesty?”

“Sure," Tom replied, turning crimson again. "She hired me for my honesty."

“Well, then. We won’t make a thing of it.”

Tom couldn’t suppress a smile as he heard Adam grumble something about _too much freedom in his household._  

 

They reached Downton shortly afterwards. Tom remained in the car as Adam jumped out of it, barely able to contain himself as he walked to the door. Carson opened with an inquisitive look at the sight of the rather disheveled Viscount of Westforth.

“My Lord…” He began.

Adam stopped short. He hadn’t exactly prepared a speech or anything. Judging by Carson’s haughty stare, he couldn’t possibly fall to his knees and evoke his _mission of love_ , or whatever it was. 

“I… I”m sorry to disturb you, I was…” He took a deep breath, incapable of finding the right words.

“Who is this?” He heard the welcome voice of his friend Henry down the great hall. He sighed in relief.

“I need to speak to Henry please, Mr…”

“Carson. Here he comes.”

Carson stepped aside and Henry came up to him, accompanied by Mary. They were about to go out, judging by their coats and hats. Henry glared at Adam with concern.

“What brings you here, my dear fellow? Is everything alright? You look…distraught.”

Adam shrugged that off, waving his hands to signal that nothing was wrong.

Mary raised an amused eyebrow at him. He held his head in his hands. His palms were sweaty with anticipation.

“I’ve lost my butler," he sighs, “I can’t find him. I was wondering if… He couldn’t have ran back here.”

Henry and Carson raised their eyebrows at each other. Mary stepped forward, eyeing Adam curiously.

“You’ve… _lost_ your butler? She repeated, a tiny smile on her face.

“Well, yes.” Adam was embarrassed and it was painfully obvious. He was twisting his cane in his hands and was glancing around for any sight of Thomas, making him look quite unstable. 

“He ran away, you see.”

“He… ran away?” 

“Yes but that was my fault. I want him back now. I thought he might be staying with you.”

Mary gave him a long, lingering look, and shook her head as if the assumption she has just made about what transpired here was definitely the most satisfactory. 

“I’m afraid he’s not here, Lord Westforth. We haven’t seen him.”

Adam received the new as well as if someone had poured a bucket of icy water over him. 

“It’s not possible," he said, gasping for air. "My... Mission..."

Henry came up to him and grabbed him by the shoulder, sighing sympathetically.

“What happened, Adam?”

“Did Mr Barrow do anything… out of place?” Mary asked, with a grimace.

“...Of...-What do you mean?” Adam was still struck down at the news of Thomas’s absence.

“Well," she glanced at Henry who shook his head disapprovingly. 

“Did he do anything to make you upset? Is that why he ran away?”

Adam looked up and studied them both with a shrewd interest.

“Look. I just want to know where he is. You don’t have to invite me to dinner or even ever see me again.”

They glanced awkwardly at each other.

“I just want to know where he is. That is all. Afterwards, I’m gone.”

They remained silent for a few seconds, then Henry opened his mouth but Mary waved him off. 

“Thomas isn’t here, Adam. But if someone knew of his whereabouts, that would be Miss Baxter. She was a friend of his sister and they’ve known each other for a while.”

Henry smiled fondly at his wife. She rolled her eyes in response, but conceded a smile back. Carson was standing vigil in the back, his brow furrowed. 

Mary grabbed Adam’s arm. “Carson will take you to Miss Baxter, won’t you Carson?” The old man nodded in response. “As for you, Adam, I hope you find Thomas. I do, really.”

Adam stared at her with wide curious eyes.

“And let us know when you want to come for dinner.” 

She dropped a kiss on his cheek and he felt himself blush unexpectedly. 

“I’m very grateful Lady Mary… But I don’t think I’ll be up to the standards of Downton from now on. I thank you though, you are most gracious.”

She tilded her head with a smile. “Go on, and good luck.”

 

Carson, looking more dumbfounded and grumpy by the minute, took his Lordship to the servants’ hall, where Miss Baxter was working on some repair on a dress. He dismissed the other employees present there. Mrs Patmore offered tea, but Lord Westforth declined. After casting him a most disapproving look, Carson headed back upstairs, whispering in Mrs Hughes’s ear. 

Miss Baxter smiled softly at his Lordship. He looked so awkward that she felt for him. She decided to break the ice.

“Have you come to offer me a position?” She said jokingly. 

He scoffed, still twisting his cane between his hands like his life depended on it.

“Why would I offer you a position," he said haughtily. “I don’t hire every peasant I meet, if you must know.”

She lifted her eyebrows, still smiling.

“Are you always this kind when you’re uncomfortable?”

That caught him off guard. He sunk down a chair on the other side of the table.

“I’m ever so sorry," he said, putting his cane down with a sigh. “I am the worst.”

“I know," she said softly. “I’m a friend of Thomas, after all.”

“Y-yes. It appears so. Has he been in touch?”

“Yes, he has.” Adam’s eyes widen in expectation. “To ask me why I said all those nasty things about him to you, in exchange for money.”

Adam's shoulder dropped in dismay.

“Oh… But that wasn’t you. That was this Miss O’brian that I found. She was just a bitter old bat.”

Miss Baxter smiled.

“You would do me a favour if you would tell him that.”

“I will when I find him. Did he tell you where he is now?”

She shook his head and considered him with kind eyes.

“I’m sorry, he hasn’t spoken to me for a while.”

Adam uttered a sound of despair and wrapped his hands around his head.

“I have lost him, and it’s my fault. How could I ever fix this?”

“You love him," she said, and there was some amazement in her voice. 

He glanced at her, then looked away awkwardly.

“That’s alright," she said. “Thomas deserves to be loved. He hasn’t had an easy life, you know. It’s about time that he finds a bit of happiness.”

“I screwed it all up though.”

“It’s never too late to make amends.” 

Adam shifted in his seat. 

“Yes, but I don’t know where to find him. I left him such a big severance that he could be in America for all I know. Feasting with newcomers and barbarians. God, I’m such a fool.”

She put down the dress she was working on, biting the inside of her lip thoughtfully.

“You could try Hallward & Gray.”

Adam raised his head.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a piano shop in Camden Town.”

“A piano shop? Why would he-“

_Fucking Jimmy Kent. That little sneak. Hiding Thomas, probably sharing the same microscopical cot, instigating pillow fights._

The thought of it turned his mouth as dry as paper and his eyes started shooting arrows. He slammed his hands on the table as he rose up. 

“I’m going to have to challenge him to a duel…” He said to himself, absorbed into his own feather ridden fantasy.

“That won’t be necessary, my Lord.” Miss Baxter was smiling politely. 

He reached for her at the other side of the table and kissed her on both cheeks, making her gasp in surprise.

“Thank you, Madam. I’m so sorry I called you a peasant.”

He was about to storm out of the hall, but swirled around, hesitating. 

“Please don’t tell the old grumpy butler of theirs. I don’t think he would understand.”

She smiled, a large and bright smile.

“I’ve got your back.”

 

Adam came out in the sunlight, with a new sense of purpose. He ran to Tom and asked him to take him to the train station. 

“I don’t have much time.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. It’s for a _mission of love_.” Tom mocked cheerfully.

Adam shot him an angry glare.

“Yes, Tom. And while I’m on the train, you’ll drive the car back to London, where you will pick me up when I arrive.”

The young man scoffed. “That’s impossible. I’d arrive hours after you-“

“You’ll figure it out, young man! Drive on!”

Tom sunk down on his seat sulkily. 

Adam met his own reflexion in the side-view mirror and gave it a wicked smile. 


	29. All Hail Jimmy.

Tom drove Adam to Thirsk where his Lordship hoped on the next train. First class was ever so quiet, and Adam, whose tormented nerves acted as a fuel all morning,  quickly fell asleep, only to be awaken by the personal of the train upon his arrival in London.

As excited as ever, absolutely convinced of the importance of his mission, he left the carriage in a hurry, unaware of the annoyed looks some of the passengers were throwing him, and totally ignoring an old friend waving at him by the cab station. He knew very well that Tom was miles away and unable to pick him up. He thought it would appear better, and more down to earth, to arrive without his chauffeur and claim his prise. Especially should he have to go through Jimmy first.

There were three Hallward & Gray in London, Adam quickly realised as he inquired for the address. Two of them were in Camden, which was always crowded and a nightmare to get through. Annoyed but still fueled by a sentiment of upmost reverence, Adam contacted the shops by telephone and asked if by any chance they had under their employment  ~~an obnoxious little twit~~ a young man with blond hair named James Kent. That was an odd question to ask, by all means, but no one refused a Lord anything at this blessed time, and he only had to pretend he had found his wallet and wanted to give it back.

He arrived with the twilight. He found Jimmy unloading a piano from a cart in the courtyard, with his sleeves rolled up and and a strained look on his face. Adam paused to look at him. He was bloody handsome. Attractive without even trying. The frost bite of jealousy started gnawing at his chest. Jimmy noticed him as he was wiping sweat from his brow. Frowning, the young man said something to his two mates before heading towards him. Still clutching his dirty handkerchief, he pointed a finger at Adam, the incredulity plain on his face.

“Why are you here?”

Adam shrugged, but he was nervous, even intimidated and he sensed that Jimmy could see it.

“I’m looking for Thomas.”

“How did you find me?” He was eying him with a kind of cool disdain, as if they were, after all, equal in position but not in value, and that he was the better man. Adam felt his courage trot back to him like an old familiar pet. He was, after all, a vain peacock, and Jimmy was his match.  It was but a jest, and aristocrats never lose.

“What do you mean, how did I find you. I’m a Lord.”

Jimmy scoffed at the sound of his words.

“No one cares about that nowadays.”

“Well, I’m a good looking Lord, so there’s that.”

It made Jimmy chuckle. Out of mockery or sympathy, he couldn’t say.

“Has Thomas called?” Adam asked.

Jimmy pursed his lips in a tight smile.

“Yes, to tell me that you were treating him very poorly.”

Adam nodded, more to himself that to the young man. “Ah. Well, you see, that was a long time ago. I’ve changed since.”

“Yes, then he called again, and told me that you got rid of him.”

They both stared at each other. Adam looked away sheepishly. There was no point denying it. He had treated Thomas quite poorly. If Jimmy didn’t want to help, it was nothing but understandable.

"Heck. I admit it. So be it."

Jimmy scrutinised Adam’s face for a few seconds, and looked left and right to check if no one else was around.

“Thomas is my friend you know," he said.“Even though he’s… what he is.”

He leaned forward and lowered his voice.

“I know about him. He even kissed me, once. He was even in love with me, you know.”

Adam glared at him coldly. Again he had made up stories in his head and never realised the absolute obvious. Jimmy was no threat at all. He wasn’t even interested in Thomas. He was only toying with him to puff his own confidence. This young man was just a reflexion of Adam’s puerile vanity. None of them deserved Thomas’s love after all. It made him smile.

“Yes," he chuckled softly. “It figures.”

“What do you mean?” Jimmy frowned.

He pointed at Jimmy’s face and his own.

“I mean, look at us. Can't you see a pattern here?”

The young man nodded with a smile.

“I agree. Though I do look better. Have you ever heard of a  magical thing called water? That if you drink it, it makes you really healthy?”

Adam looked down at him with a smirk.

“And you’re quite short, though, I must say. But you know the saying, ‘small dogs bark the loudest.’”

Jimmy cheeks turned scarlet. He opened his mouth to fight back, but refrained himself at the last moment.

“Let’s... not. You should go home.”

Adam stepped forward. “Wait. Is Thomas staying here with you?”

“No. He’s not. You should go home.”

He screwed his eyes shut in desperation. “Please, James. Can you at least tell him to contact me?”

Jimmy spun on his heel, rolling his eyes.

“Just go home, _Your Lordship_. I have nothing else to say to you.”

He went inside, leaving Adam staring at his feet on the pavement.

He had spent all day travelling and imagining his reunion with Thomas, only to realise he might never find out where he was. Suddenly his mission of love appeared very absurd to him, and as he wandered the busy streets of London, he felt he hot breath of helplessness as it crept up inside him. The people were now too loud, and the honking of cars, the agitation of the streets got to him. His chest tightened and he gasped for air. He looked around. Everything appeared threatening to him. He regretted to have sent Tom away. He wanted nothing but to be home now, but he was alone in the big city. He shut his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing. He couldn’t afford to have a panic attack in the middle of the street. He had to calm down and hail a cab as soon as possible. He stumbled around, not knowing in which direction to go.

“Adam?”

He froze at the sound of his name. A shiny black car had pulled over. He squinted his eyes to find out who had called him.

“Philip?”

The Duke’s face was peering out of the window. He opened the door.

“Adam, what are you doing here? You're looking very unwell.”

Adam walked up to the car, sighing helplessly.

“I’m not sure. I would like to go home.”

Philip looked genuinely concerned. He motioned him to get inside.

“Come, I will give you a ride home.”

He waited for Adam to have sunk in his seat and shut the door to order his driver to Westforth Place.

“What happened?” he asked after a few seconds.

Adam put his head in his hands.

“I’ve lost Thomas. I was looking for him, but I couldn’t find him.”

Philip scoffed softly. “Thomas. So that’s it, then. You are really serious about him.”

Adam looked at him with apologetic eyes. “Yes... It seems like it. I mean, if I can find him.”

They remained silent for a while, then Philip shook his head with a little laugh.

“You have nothing in common, you know. You and him. Unless I’m wrong, but, truly-”

“You are not wrong. It’s just the way it is. You can’t always have control about you want.”

“Tell me about it.”

They quickly averted each other's eyes. Philip let out a long breath.

“I never even had the tiniest chance with you, did I? Though we have more in common and we are better suited for each other. It seems so unfair to me.”

Adam bit the inside of his lip thoughtfully.

“I don’t know. It was just never the right time, I suppose.”

“You’re being kind.”

“I believe I am. How new.”

They chuckled. Philip slithered closer to him and took his hand. Adam quickly became absorbed with the view out of the window.

“When I came to your house, I really did want to apologise. I feel so terrible about th-”

“Don’t bother," Adam interrupted, not without kindness. “It’s fine, I’m not mad at you or anything. We’ve known each other a long time. Let us be friends.”

Philips raised his eyebrows. “Friends. Yes. Though you could have killed me, if you remember.”

“I wasn’t aiming at you.”

“I wouldn’t trust a drunk to aim properly. You really could have hurt me.”

Adam shook his wand free, annoyed.

“Are we seriously going to debate about that? I’ve just offered my friendship.”

“I’m just saying, I’m the one who should be in the position to offer friendship. God I hate it that you always win.”

They looked away and remained silent for a few minutes. The car was now speeding away from the noisy city, closer to home.

“How’s Emma?” Philip asked eventually.

“Better than the rest of us, as always.” Adam furrowed his brow. “She is always right and I love her for it. And I’m irritated by it. I owe her so much.”

“You have a happy marriage, considering the circumstances. You were always lucky beyond the limits of reason.”

Adam shook his head and put it on Philip’s shoulder, who shuddered in surprise.

“I know it appears so. But I have paid for it in ways you don’t know.”

Philip let out a long resigned sigh.

“I never thought in my whole life that I would end up envying the footman Thomas.”

It made his friend smile.

“I know. The world is a strange place, Philip. We never know what’s to come.”

 

They reached Westforth Place a few minutes later. As they drove up the driveway, Adam felt a certain relief at the sight of the lights inside. The day had been exhausting. He would need to rest and to regroup. He would need to come up with a pl- He squinted his eyes at the sight of a couple of silhouettes outside by the main door. Emma was standing there, smoking a cigarette with someone. Poor Tom, he thought. He would need to apologise to him as well. They drew closer and he felt Philip’s hand grab his wrist and shake it. He frowned and looked again.

It wasn’t Tom.

It was Thomas.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	30. Man on Fire.

Adam jumped out of the car with inhumane speed. The Duke shook his head helplessly.

Thomas stared as the Viscount left the car and ran toward him, and received the full blow as he threw himself upon him. He barely hugged back, opted to remain... well... British instead. Emma gave them a long expectant look and headed towards the house, leaving them to their business.

“Thomas!” Adam was catching his breath. “I’ve been everywhere…”

It made Thomas titled his head mockingly.

“So I see.” He smirked. “And it seems you have found the Duke on the way.”

Adam shook his head, his hands still on Thomas’s shoulders.

“Oh no, never mind him, he just gave me a lift.”

The Viscount waved at the Duke to get lost, to which Philip answered with an offended glare. He withdrew into the back the car.

“I went to Downton, but they didn’t know where you were", Adam said, as Philip’s car was disappearing down the driveway. “I even went to see Jimmy. He wouldn’t help. Where were you?”

Thomas pulled on his cigarette with a half smile.

“I was here the whole time. In a pub, ten minutes from here. Jimmy called me when you left, so I walked to the house, thought I’d wait for you here.”

Adam was staring at him with incredulous eyes.

“How…?”

“Tom drove me to the pub on the day you let me go. Her Ladyship came to visit me and told me to stay put. I didn’t really know why, or what was the point, but she kept calling and telling me not to leave. So I stayed. She didn’t tell you she knew where I was?”

Thomas threw his cigarette on the ground, chuckling at the sight of Adam painfully putting the pieces together. They both looked at the house at the same time. Emma, with Tom, Esther and Agathe hiding behind her, was spying on them from the shadow of the hall. Adam rolled his eyes at the sky, unable to repress a dry laugh.

“I guess I had that coming.”

They remained silent for a while, and Thomas didn’t want the awkwardness to settle between them. He knew too well that Adam was at his worst when he was uncomfortable. He had to lead to way.

“You look… sober.” He ventured, pointing at his face.

Adam stared at his feet, frowning.

“I feel terrible.”

“It has been a long day for you. You’ll feel better after you rest.”

“Yes.”

Adam stepped forward, avoiding Thomas’s gaze.

“But what I really mean is, _I feel terrible_.”

“Oh.”

Thomas observed Adam as he started to chew on his nails nervously. Again, he looked to vulnerable, so young and fragile. It had never really occurred to him that the Viscount could be younger than him. He had looked so wary and anguished most of the time. Now it looked all the more obvious. Again, Thomas realised he had to lead the way.

“It’s ok. It’s not like I’m not used to it."

Adam let go of his chewed up fingers and raised his arms to embrace Thomas, who rapidly took a step back.

“Wait, not here. Everyone can see us. I mean, everyone.”

Adam looked around as Thomas motioned at her Ladyship and her two servants still lurking from the darkness of the hall. The Viscount grabbed Thomas’s pointed finger and pulled him towards the side of the house.

“Come, let’s go someplace else.”

They went around the house and stumbled through the gardens. It was dark and they couldn’t go very far. Adam sat at his usual table and invited Thomas to join him.

“We need to talk, Thomas," he said gravely.

“I guess we do.”

Thomas sat down. Now he didn’t know what to expect. He had seen Adam in all kinds of states, and knew they didn’t necessarily mean that things would change, for the worst or the better.

_I_ _f he wanted to hire him back, he would have to say no. If he wanted to take him back, he would have to answer a lot of questions. If he wanted to…_

“I have to tell you about Edgar.”

Adam interrupted his train of thoughts with this blow, spoken softly, accompanied by watering eyes. Thomas remained silent, worried that any reaction from him would prevent Adam to speak further. The Viscount was chewing on his fingers again, his brow furrowed. He went through his pockets and produced the small frame containing the picture of Edgar in his officer uniform.

Adam took a deep sniffing breath.

“When I’m done you might never want to talk to me again.” His voice was shaking. “But it’s me, the whole me, and you have to know it.”

Thomas looked at Adam with concerned eyes.

“Very well."

He ignored the urge to reach out for Adam’s trembling hands and rested his own on his lap instead. The Viscount shook his head to regain his composure. He sighed.

 


	31. Edgar's tale.

"Do you still love me?"

"Yes. No. Depends on what you want to hear." Thomas cleared his throat. "I mean, yes. Yes, it appears that I do."

"Have you ever been loved the way you love me now?" 

Adam stared at him, waiting for the answer. Thomas's chest tightened and he clenched his fists.

"No. I have not," he said calmly. 

"Well, I have. Once. And I've lost him."

Thomas kept silent, encouraging Adam to engage in his story. The Viscount stared at the sky for a few seconds, then spoke in a hoarse voice.

“Edgar and I met when we were babies. Our fathers had been friends their whole life and their fathers’s fathers before them. Daughters married sons and cousins and so on for generations. We grew up together, we shared tutors and games and adventures, always under the careful eye of our fathers. We were inseparables. The best friends that ever walked this earth.”

“I don’t know how we grew to love each other romantically. I am certain now that my father knew before us. He dared not say anything, but now that I recall, he definitely knew before me. You see, I grew up handsome, and as soon as my twelfth or thirteenth birthday, I was the prize all the little ladies could talk about, and I liked it. I liked being the beautiful thing people talked about. Edgar used to say that I was beautiful and vain. It is the truest thing anyone has ever said about me.”

“However we both grew up, turned into little lords, and the little ladies, as pretty as they seemed to me, never stirred my interest. I wanted nothing with them, preferred to study and play with Edgar, and his father was pleased, and mine didn’t say anything about it, so I thought life was good.”

“When I was sixteen, we celebrated Cousin Jane’s birthday at Westforth Hall, and Jane and all the ladies were now teenage girls or young women, and the flirting felt different. I had spent all day doing favours and hearing tales and heard my father talk a lot about my future prospects. I was sixteen. I wanted nothing to do with that. Edgar suddenly grabbed my hand and led me to the stables, where we hid from Cousin Jane and her squealing friends. I felt a bit of tension in the air, but not so much, then he smiled at me, and pat me on the shoulder, and he just gave a small, dry kiss on the lips. It just felt natural. Like it was always that way. I kissed back and we held each other's hands for a few minutes and it was the start of our second relationship.”

“Edgar was the good man and I was the other. When I knew everything I had to know about him, I had to meet with others. He always said it was fun, and that he enjoyed the games we played, but I believe now that he went with the motion only to humour me. He didn’t need to fuck his way through the world to know he was someone. I, on the other hand, was obsessed with the need to feel desired. I couldn't help it.”

“I met Emma three years later and at first he objected to the marriage. But it was nonsense. Soon he’d have to get married as well, even though his parents seemed to be of a very liberal nature, and he might not have been as lucky as myself in the choice of his bride. But luckily they got to know and love each other. There was a time we lived together in our London flat, throwing parties and living the life. Acquiring a certain reputation... And then, the war.”

“My brother died within the first weeks. My brother, a strong man, a hero. The news shocked me more than grieved me, for we had never been close, never really been allowed too. But thinking about him, and the awe he always inspired me, filled me with horror, like the world had been pulled backwards. I gradually spiralled downwards, but they kept me on and on and on. Years passed, and Edgar was always in my life. We wrote to each other and saw each other whenever we could, but it wasn’t the same. I was distant, even to myself, and had already lost my grip on reality. When I got shot and was sent home, he went to visit me, he said he’d take care of me, that it didn’t matter. I was having brutal nightmares and the simple sound of a bell could make me cower in fear. I was no man, for sure. I never really was anyway. And irony, irony has a way.”

“Only a few weeks before the end of the war, a piece of shrapnel tore away his beautiful face. I had heard about it with a distant ear, knowing that even with a missing eye, he would still be Edgar and that we would get by as soon as I would feel better.”

“It took me months and months to be able to see him. I was being treated for what shell-shock, and he was being treated for his condition, and if I had been lucid, I would have known it wasn’t just a missing eye. So when I visited him eighteen months later, as the doctors found me better, I didn’t expect what I came to see.”

“The shock sent me flying backwards and I immediately started shaking uncontrollably. He had only one eye, at least I got that right, but he also had no face at all. It was just a gaping hole, and he had to feed through a kind of straw. It must have hurt him so much, that I cowered at the sight of him. But at the time, I couldn’t help it. I was almost institutionalised for the second time, and it took me months to recover. I couldn’t even write for the first six months, and when we started corresponding again, it wasn’t with the same warmth. I was afraid to see him only to be sent back to the hospitals with pills shoved down my throat and talks of asylum looming over me. He was afraid to hurt me and also to lose me. He was always the gentle one.”

“Three years had passed since the war. I had drifted through this world, drinking mostly, meeting with people I didn’t care about, passing out at my friends’s parties and trying my best to forget anything ever happened. When at last I felt sort of recovered, I visited Edgar at his house, while we were staying at Westforth Hall, which is the neighbouring estate. I went on my own and didn’t tell anyone, so that no one expected anything from it. We sat and we talked, we tried to play a few games. He had some odd prothesis holding parts of his face together, but he couldn’t really speak, and he used a piece of paper and a pen so he could communicate with me. There must have been something, in my reserved attitude, in the sadness in my eyes, in the tone of my voice, in the way I was probably avoiding his gaze. There must have been something there, that he saw, and that I couldn’t see, too buried in my own anguish.”

“I went home feeling sick and disgusted, not as much at him than at myself. I wanted to be there for him, we were both broken in different ways. But it’s always been us you know, I didn’t know my life without him. Every look at his face would be a reminder of the war that tore at my brain and rendered me useless. But everyday without him also felt meaningless to me. There were fireworks that night. Everybody celebrated outside while I was hiding from the banter, shaking and whimpering, praying for arms to hold me. The thought of his face still sent shivers down my spine. But his arms, his arms felt like a missing haven.”

“Again, I didn’t tell Emma, and I left early in the morning, and walked to his estate. I wanted to see him and talk about something, that was probably meaningless, because I have no recollection of it now. I knew the way around the house and how to get inside without needing the servants. I creeped in through the back of the sitting room where I knew I would find him. It was always his favourite room.”

“It was still early and the servants were probably elsewhere. I saw his feet first, lying on the ground by the table. The chair he sat on had flown backwards and he must have fallen off with it. He was still holding the rifle with a gripping white hand. I dared come closer and a quick look at his head confirmed what I thought had happened. He was gone. My world turned black and I don’t remember coming home.”

“When his father called us later that day, I said nothing. Emma doesn’t know I found him dead before the servants. I never told her. All that happened afterwards is blurry to me. I just disappeared, resurfacing occasionally, on and off for six years.”

His voice, still shaking, fell to a whisper. His face was glistening with silent and systematic tears.

Thomas eyes were red but he said nothing, made no movement. Adam wasn’t done. He took a deep breath.

“The thing is, Thomas, I killed my lover by my lack of care, and it drove me insane. And I thought that was it, for the rest of my life, but you came in and made things better, and I just don’t deserve it. I tried to accept it but the dream turned into a nightmare. I’m a coward and a monster, and Edgar’s ghost won’t let me go. Sometimes, I look at you, and all I see is a gaping hole.”

His voice broke and he burst into resigned tears. 

“Now you know," he said between violent sobs. “I’m a murderer. I killed the man I loved the most.”

Thomas wiped the tears that were streaming down his cheeks with the back of his hand. He got up and wrapped his arms around Adam, who buried his face in his neck, shaking. Thomas covered his face with kisses and ran his hand through his blond hair.

“It’s alright," he murmured softly. “It’s alright. It’s over now.”

He held up Adam’s chin and looked up in his eyes. “Look.” He put his hands on his face.

“That’s me. There is no hole. Just my face.”

Adam locked his eyes in Thomas’s, frowning through the tears.

“Don’t you hate me now?" He sniffed loudly. "Because I, I really do hate myself.”

Thomas sighed. “Adam, I know it looks very dark from your perspective, but you are not to blame. You were ill and Edgar knew it. You tried what you could at the time. Edgar had probably been unhappy for a long, long time. He couldn’t face what had happened to him. He didn’t drink himself to death like you tried to. He took another way out. No one says it was your fault. You would have taken care of him, if you were in condition to. You were ill. You still are. You will never heal if you put his death on your shoulders." He paused. "That’s what I think.”

Adam was incredulous. Thomas smiled at him.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you’re a troubled one, yes. But you’re not a bad person, and you’re not a murderer.”

Adam let out a relieved noise and wrapped his arms around Thomas, squeezing the breath out of him.

“Who are you…?” The Viscount whispered in his ear.

“I’m just Thomas. And I’ll take care of you.”

Another relieved sigh escaped from his mouth.

“Thank you…" He let go of him. "But…You’re still fired though.”

Thomas chuckled. “Yes. Well, I’m still here if you want me.”

He rose up and offered a hand to Adam who took it and stood up shakily.

“Yes, I want you to stay. I want you to be with me.”

Thomas cupped his head in his hands and leaned in a soft, wet kiss.

“Good. I want you to be mine. I deserve it, after all we’ve been through.”

Adam chuckled weakly at the sound of that.

“Oh I am yours, definitely. Most definitely.”

Thomas bit his lip, his cheeks flushed with emotion.

“Let’s get you inside. You have to tell Emma the truth, so she can tell you herself that it wasn’t your fault.”

They took a few moonlit steps towards the house. Adam stopped as they were drawing close.

“Wait."

He reached out and pulled Thomas close, crushing his lips to his own in a passionate embrace. They heard a loud cheering noise from inside the house. Through the open curtains, they could see Emma, Esther, Tom and Agathe staring at them, clasping each other, laughing and jumping at the same time. The cork of a bottle popped loudly as Tom opened it, and they saw a geyser of champagne redecorating the music room as they cheered merrily.

Thomas furrowed his brow, incredulous.

“I did owe her that," Adam said with a smile.

“I didn’t know Agathe and Tom were in on it, though."

“Well, I’m not surprised. We’ve been so slow at it that it must have become the principal source of entertainment in this house.”

“Will they keep their mouth shut about us, though?” Thomas asked, concerned.

“Well, if they don't tell on us, we won't tell on them.”

Thomas choke on his words.

“What? Are they also…?”

Adam shook his head, laughing now.

“Heck. You are really slow, Thomas. Yes, they are. We hire different people so we can feel safe. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, as it happened with Penelope.”

“Wait. Is that why _I_ was hired?” 

Adam laughed mercilessly at him.

“Yes, well... I’ll let you think about it.”

 

They went inside where they found Emma lying on the méridienne, drinking champagne and complaining loudly that “she was done, and needed at least ten years to recover from this one”. Agathe, Esther and Tom stared at Thomas and Adam with judgmental eyes, and the Viscount waved at them dismissively.

“Get me a glass of this champagne or get out. I’m being judged by my own servants. What happened to the order or the world?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, let them!” cried Emma in return. “You’re a bunch of imbeciles. Though I love you both.”

Thomas’s cheeks turned scarlet. He accepted the cup of champagne that Tom handed him over with a smile.

“We are imbeciles though," Adam confirmed while draining his cup in one gulp. "But Thomas more than myself." Thomas stared at him, still feeling incredulous about the whole thing.

“Yes, and I’m glad you’ve realised you’re not as clever as you think you are either, my Lord.”

“For God’s sake, call him Adam!” roared everyone in unison.

Adam raised his glass to him. “We’re not masters in this house. That’s a fact.”

“Is there anything we can control?” Thomas asked in a scheming voice, sipping his champagne.

“I guess it’s up to us now…” Adam replied in the same tone.


	32. Yhprum's Law.

That night, Adam told the truth about Edgar and how much he was blaming himself for it. Emma was compassionate, even more so than Thomas, for she had witnessed everything all those years and assessed that the situation was much more complicated than it appeared in his eyes. And now that the truth was out, he could finally move on and start a more honest healing process.

 Adam asked for Thomas’s things to be moved in a room close to his, and they had a talk about what to do in the future. He didn’t want Thomas to be his servant, but he couldn’t reveal to the world their living arrangement. So in the face of the world, Thomas would be the butler and would take care of the house. Unofficially, they would do with Agathe and Esther and might hire a footman that could be trusted. Thomas would still supervise everything, as he implored them to be let him be useful and earn a wage around the house. They talked about the arrangements for a long time and went to bed contented.

Thomas had heard about the powers of make-up sex but got his first taste of it that night. He didn’t even have time to properly shut the door that Adam was already taking off his clothes in a fiery haste. He knew the sight of him in his own clothes was a turn on for the Viscount, and he had deliberately chosen his finest suit before turning up at the house. It was soon almost torn away from him, and he found himself ridding Adam of his clothes in the same hurry. They fell loudly on the bed and started laughing, and then crying, then laughing again. They covered each other with kisses and touched themselves everywhere as if they’d never explored each other before. Adam lied on his back and begged Thomas to take him and so Thomas did, and he felt fire licking his entrails as Adam laid there imploring him, embracing him, and becoming undone under him. They cried out to each other when they climaxed and sunk in the bedclothes, drained of all energy. They fell asleep immediately, in each other’s arms. That night, Adam didn’t wake up from any nightmare, and they woke up still embracing.

 And it seemed that life would be like that for a while.

 

 

*

 

 

Two weeks had passed in relative peace at Westforth Place, except for the occasional struggle between Thomas and Adam as to who hire as a footman. They had a few candidates but none was working out. Adam was obsessed with hiring the most handsome ones, which Thomas refused categorically. Emma wanted one that was like them, but there were not enough candidates to explore the option carefully. So they got by with the help of Esther, and they learned to serve themselves and be contented with it.

 Adam’s father had come with his wife and they had a quiet lunch, even pleasant, with such highlights as Adam throwing some looks at Thomas posing as the butler, provocatively brushing past him when changing rooms, biting and licking his lip as he stared at him standing motionless in the distance, trying to remain composed but struggling with the fire burning inside him.

 Adam had an insatiable need for … contact, and they had spent a rocky couple of weeks, acting like a couple of teenagers. Thomas wasn’t used to that way of life, contrary as his lover who felt it was only normal to live with the person you crave. He tried to keep an eye on the house and make sure everything was perfect, as his job was demanding, but Adam was continuously chasing him and seducing him around every corner of the house. It felt strange not to be afraid. Thomas had never been happy before. It felt like the strangest thing in the world. 

And then there was that day. 

They sat outside in the garden, bathing in the sunlight. Adam was wearing his light blue suit, and was lying back on his chair, resting his feet on Thomas’s lap, who was smoking a cigarette, feeling at ease. Thomas was staring at the beauty of his lover, feeling lucky to have someone like him, as odd and tyrannic as he could sometimes be. He was aware that Adam would never be normal, and that he did still suffer from nightmares, and that there would always be the occasional time where Thomas would have to reassure him that his face was whole and would always be. But nevertheless, beauty is an opiate, and Thomas was addicted to Adam’s like Adam was addicted to liquor. He knew he was a fool, but it felt bloody good to be a fool when it was with Adam.

He was torn out of his thoughts when he felt Adam's stare on him, lost in an apparent reverie. It was a quiet afternoon, with no sounds other than the rustling of the wind between the leaves and the chirping of careless birds. He let Adam observe him in silence for a while, but his cheeks began to feel hot and he looked away, embarrassed. He felt Adam’s legs leave the comfort of his lap as the young man straightened himself and took his head his his hands in a thoughtful manner. 

“Thomas, I love you." He bit his lips. His face was scarlet. He started laughing nervously. He looked so young.

Thomas felt his stomach churn helplessly and tears rushed up the corner of his eyes. He swallowed the rock that was trapped in his throat. Adam witnessed it and became as white as a sheet.

“I…” Thomas said in a choking voice. He started to laugh. “I spent so much time trying to save your ass that I forgot about mine.” He wiped his palms on his trousers. “No one’s ever told me they loved me before.” Two sober tears tumbled down his cheeks and he began to laugh again.

Adam’s fainted smile reappeared as he stared at Thomas with a soft humility. He locked his eyes in his, leaning forward.

“I love you," he said again, nodding.

Thomas took a deep sniffing breath and smiled through the tears. He felt stupid. He felt happy.

Adam flew from his chair and threw himself at Thomas. They lost balance and handed up on the grass. It gave the Viscount an instant naughty idea about what to do next, but Thomas yelped on behalf of his good clothes. 

They hung on to each other tightly.


	33. Epilogue.

Now I’m not saying that they lived happily ever after like in some kind of fairytale. They were very different from each other and they fought a lot, but could never be separated. They tried a couple of times, but it never worked out. They hung to each other with force and desperation. And now that Emma had settled them together, Thomas was the only one who could control Adam, though he seldom acted on it, for he couldn’t believe it himself. And Adam was terribly in love with Thomas, though he often tried to convince himself he wasn’t.

They had a passionate relationship. That’s how they lived it.

That’s how I know they still live it today.

Thomas found peace and quiet in the raising of Adam and Emma’s daughter Anne, born a few years later, and who is to become the next Viscountess of Westforth. He had a talent with children that Adam didn’t have. He loved the child and she loved him back.

Four or five years after Thomas and Adam’s first encounter, Lady Emma Herrington was arrested for gross indecency, for reasons that won’t be explained today. She joked her way out of trouble, famously stating in court that if she was, in fact, a woman of ill repute and a homosexual, it wouldn’t be recommended to send her to a women’s prison. The affair made the papers and people laughed about it, for it was always difficult to prove a woman was anything other than what she claimed to be. The Lady was much loved by the people and the judge was keen to avid making a roaring case out of it. The affair was quickly buried, but you can still find some traces of it in some old newspapers.

When Esther and Tom got married - oh, yes, they followed they employer’s example-, she hired a German woman named Claudia that she had met at one of Cousin Jane’s parties and they still remain together to that day.

I could tell you many stories about what happened to Thomas Barrow and his lover Adam. They was the time when Carson retired and Thomas almost left Westforth Place to go back to Downton, the time when O’Brien came from out of nowhere to blackmail her old enemy, which is also the time when Thomas was caught kissing the Duke, the time when they argued and fought in a public house, that time when Thomas burst in at one of Philip’s parties or that one when Adam threatened to shoot Jimmy. I could tell you about the crazy sex they had and how many lamps or glasses were broken over the course of their relationship. I can tell you how many times I’ve seen them fight and make out at the same time, and how many times Lady Emma and myself shook our heads and cursed them for being imbeciles. I can tell you I’ve asked Thomas once why did he put up with his devil of a lover, and the man answered me “I’m in love with his fire”. Then I remembered what Adam said once, a long time ago, “I blow hot, he blows cold. The ravages we’d made should we be an item.”

I can’t tell you what will happen next, but I’ll bet you it’s going to be good.

Well, I’m just like you. I like to think about what they do behind closed doors.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it.
> 
> Thank you a thousand times for reading, taking the trouble to leave a nice comment or a kudo.
> 
>  
> 
> ***
> 
>  
> 
> WHAT NEXT?
> 
> I'm working on a darker Harry Potter fanfiction called "Where the quiet snakes hide" and I'd love to share it with you when it's done.
> 
> In the meantime, I've published a 20k story about a crazy teenage witch wrecking havoc at school because of a spell gone wrong.
> 
> It's called [My Gay Best Friend](http://smarturl.it/LagunaGayBestFriend) and you can get it [here](http://smarturl.it/LagunaGayBestFriend).
> 
> It's a short story/comedy/occult fantasy tale.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on that one.
> 
> And again, thanks for reading.  
>  


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